It's A Secret
by soundlines
Summary: Chapter 12 up. "He was cut off as Gilbert's other hand formed a fist and collided, hard, with his jaw. At first, there was silence. Then he whispered, 'Oh my God.'" High School AU, PruCan, USCan, mentions of SpaCan. Rated for language, sensuality, abuse.
1. Encounters and a Suspicious Spaniard

A/N: Wow! I can't believe I'm actually writing this! I've always had a desire to write fanfiction, and I'm finally getting started! Please don't be harsh, although constructive criticism would always be welcomed. I look forward to writing for all of you lovely people! ~

Disclaimer: All I have is the power of love. And (checks in pockets) …lint. -shot-

--

"Well, this feels like high school, but nothing's new. Every other boy tries talking to you." –'High School' by The Friday Night Boys.

--

Alfred Jones giggled in sheer delight as he crept lightly across the carpeted floor of his brother's room, watching the sleeping Canadian's face warily for any sign of movement. The scheming American was nearly shaking in excitement, all the way from the gravity-defying cowlick bobbing up and down to his toes, which were rather cozily clad in Superman-themed socks. Breathing very quietly so as not to disturb his soon-to-be unfortunate victim, Alfred practically tiptoed past the dresser, on which a glowing digital alarm clock advertised the current time of 6:28 a.m.

The dark room was completely still, save for the blonde's slow but steady movement. Said boy nearly cackled in glee as he finally reached the bedside without incident, kneeling softly and staring at his prey's sleeping form. Alfred reached into his pocket and retrieved the item that would make his normally calm brother's morning considerably less peaceful.

He crooned ever-so-quietly, "_Ma_tthew~ Good _mor_ning~" As expected, the unconscious blonde didn't stir. Alfred almost let a laugh escape his throat, catching himself in the nick of time (as any true hero would). The other boy just slept on, shallow breathing just barely audible to the schemer at his bedside.

Now it was time for the risky phase of Alfred's operation. Extending a hand out gradually, careful not to make any jarring motions, the blonde gently took hold of Matthew's slim wrist, handling the appendage with extreme caution. He mentally willed himself to not wake up the other as he delicately placed the object in his own, larger hand, into the smaller one of his brother.

After this step was completed successfully, the tall American took in several consecutive deep breaths, hoping that he wouldn't laugh or make any sounds on his departure. Lightly stepping over the little white bear dozing silently on his master's floor, Alfred somehow managed to do just that, slipping out of the door with a huge victory grin plastered onto his face.

He had gained confidence because of his apparent prowess, and now the blonde ran to the kitchen, taking the long flight of stairs two, even three at a time.

Bolting into the kitchen (and ignoring the bemused look on his father's face), he grabbed the black and silver home phone out of its cradle, the violent motion tipping over a spice jar. He dialed in his own cell number with practiced ease that only comes from years of one losing their cell phone in various odd locations in and around the house. Alfred drummed his fingers impatiently, laughing hysterically only when he heard resounding shrieks emit from the very bedroom he had left just moments before. The screams of abject terror were only heightened by the ringtone Alfred heard playing full blast in the background.

"I KNOW YOU WANT ME/ YOU KNOW I WANT 'CHA/ I KNOW YOU WANT M-" The nearly-deafening song came to an abrupt halt as Matthew clicked the 'answer call' button quickly, desperate for an end to the horror he had suffered. Alfred, eager to continue the prank and relish the moment even further, immediately cooked up a new plot for the unfortunate Canadian (who was trying to avoid cardiac arrest).

After quite a few frazzled gasps and pants from the other line, Matthew said, "Y-Yes, who is it?" His brother then answered softly, taking care to disguise his voice or he would be caught already.

Whispering, Alfred said hoarsely, "Yeah, can you take a message for me?" He could practically hear the teen's confusion as he said, "But I'm-" "Hey kid, just do it." This time his voice went even lower, and the blonde smiled wickedly as he heard the telltale clicks of Matthew turning up the phone's volume. Now was the time to act.

"Well, you see…" Alfred went so quiet that the Canadian was just jamming down the volume up key. Inhaling deeply, the blonde American screamed, "_GOOD MORNING, MATT_!"

A potent silence filled the ears of both parties, before a resonant thud sounded from Matthew's end of the line. Alfred cackled once more as he hung up. Turning around, the self-proclaimed hero said, "_Well_… Time for some waffles. Too bad Mattie can't join me." Alfred ate the waffles set out on the counter, completely oblivious to the blank stare he was receiving from his father, whose mouth was agape at the cruelty.

--

Matthew Williams' eyes fluttered open slowly, and immediately the smaller blonde was aware of three things. Kumajiro was sitting quite happily on his face. His head hurt like a bitch. And Alfred would pay.

Dragging himself back onto his feet, the Canadian white-knuckled the dresser's sharp edge for balance as his already-bleary morning vision spun. Clutching his throbbing blonde head and whimpering loudly in distress, he swore he would get Al back for this. He just… wasn't sure _how _exactly he would get that to happen.

Well, now wasn't the right time to think of that, the boy realized. Glancing at the clock in a furtive state of alarm, Matthew nearly shrieked as he saw the time. It was, should the numbers read true, 8:05! He was five minutes late already? It was his first day of junior year, and with a sharp jolt of horror, he considered the all-too-real possibility of his new teachers getting a bad impression. Oh _God_, he would fail high school, and, and… He would never find a college to accept him, much less a job… Oh _Alfred_!!!

The small blonde sank back to the floor, breathing growing erratic from panic. Matthew began to hyperventilate as the Canadian's innate worrier reared its ugly head again, courtesy of countless years spent in Alfred's household and having to survive innumerable 'ninja attacks.' (And boy, was he glad _that_ phase was over.)

Said blonde strolled ever-so nonchalantly into Matthew's room, eyes widening in fear as he saw the petite boy gasping for breath and clutching tightly onto the carpet, surprisingly sharp fingernails embedding themselves into the mohair fabric. Alfred yelled, "MATT? Shit, bro, calm down… Can you hear me? Breathe, Mattie."

Throughout the tirade of comforting words (which were doing nothing to improve the smaller twin's condition), Alfred was kneeling down and rubbing small circles into Matthew's back, blue eyes welling up with tears of concern. Through his gasps, the Canadian forced a sentence out through his clenched teeth.

"Al… fred… Damn you, you… bastard… Late… and…" He became less and less coherent as he coughed, mind working overtime to try and soothe himself. The worrying American's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Late? What did he mean by that? Oh, maybe it was…

"Um, Mattie…" Alfred began quite awkwardly, "Sorry, but I set that late weeks ago to scare you. Guess it didn't really work during the summer, but-" "YOU _WHAT_?" shrieked the practically livid blonde as his breathing returned to its normal state rapidly.

Leaping to his feet, the younger teen wrapped his hands around Alfred's tan neck, screaming profanities and general wishes of bodily harm in unpleasant ways (Alfred was fairly sure that he heard a pick ax mentioned). The furious brother ended his expression of rage with a hard slap to the face as the Canadian stalked off, mumbling about taking a shower before he really _was_ late.

Alfred just chuckled at Matthew's anger, rubbing his bright-red cheek, and lightly picked up Kumajiro, giggling as the small creature tried to nip his hand. He kissed the bear softly on its furry white head and whispered, "Now, your master isn't very nice this morning, is he." The polar bear just snorted.

--

Matthew sighed in relief as he stepped into the shower, hot water immediately relaxing his tense shoulders. He frowned. _Shoulders that shouldn't be tense this early in the morning anyway_, he added bitterly. Still, the Canadian shook these kinds of negative thoughts and just tilted his head back, running his fingers through his wet hair.

As the blonde bent down to retrieve the shampoo bottle, he blushed a deep red as he saw the shirtless model on the front running a hand through his (obviously perfectly tousled) hair. Matthew bit his lip as he thought, '_No. We've been over this. I do _not_ like men_.'

He wondered who he was kidding.

But, even if he could tell his mom and dad… How on _earth_ could he let Alfred know? Alfred, his perfect older brother, the straight-as-an-arrow hot guy who everyone loved, the varsity quarterback, the jock, the straight-F student, the stealing other guys' girlfriends type of person? And most of all… Senior class president.

As a social kind of guy (hell, he was drunk at another football player's house more than he was sober at home), Alfred would more than likely tell every single person in the whole school that Matthew Williams, his shy, invisible, nothing-of-a-little brother… was gay.

The small boy leaned against the shower wall and sighed again, the condensation feeling cold against his exposed back. He didn't have the heart to move. '_Alfred…_'

--

Said American pulled on a dark navy shirt and stood in front of the mirror, gazing at his slender (while somehow still muscular) frame with an appraising eye. The tall blonde finally deemed the garment acceptable with a little smile. '_Damn_,' he thought, '_Blue really is my color_.'

Alfred turned on his heel to glance at the now-accurate clock on the dresser. The numbers read 7:31, as he was pleased to see. He wouldn't be late for his first day back, after all. Well, _this_ was rather incongruous, as the jock had managed to be tardy every other first day. A line formed between his eyebrows as he considered the possibility that being on time would absolutely tarnish his amazing image. Perhaps showing up before 8:00 would be a bad move to make…

He didn't have time to finalize a decision before his younger brother came into the room (and it _was_ in Matthew's room, mind you, that our fair hero was lost in thought) in search of a towel. The two blondes locked eyes, and the room went still. Matthew was speechless in horror; Alfred was just speechless _period_.

Finally breaking the suffocating silence with an earsplitting, "GET _OUT_!" and punctuating said remark with a threatening wave of his (albeit small) fist, the terrified, dripping-wet Canadian brother ran to his closet and swiftly grabbed a green bathrobe, clutching it to his body protectively. Really, of all the people to see him naked…

Alfred, still a bit stunned, somehow was able to stumble to the ajar door and out into the hall, where he promptly took a deep breath and sprinted to his room. Meanwhile, his younger brother stood trembling, both from the cold and from the shock. Matthew couldn't believe that had just happened to him, the boy numbly padding over to the maplewood door and shutting it with a click. The action seemed infinitely pointless by now.

Seconds later, he heard footsteps creaking up the wooden staircase leading to the hall, and the blonde quickly fastened his robe with a sturdy knot, opening the door slightly. His father stood awkwardly outside it, rubbing the back of his collared neck and looking quite frazzled. "I heard shouting… Did you two argue? Was it the prank he pulled on you this morning?"

Matthew took in a calming breath as he answered, "Non, papa, we're alright. It was just a little fight, it's pointless." Putting on his best forced smile, the violet-eyed teen added, "Alfred's just being a bit unreasonable right now."

This caused a shadow to pass over the businessman's face. "He is? Again? I'm going to have a talk with him about this behavior." This made his son giggle audibly, twisting a small lock of blonde hair around a slender pointer finger as he responded, "Bon, bon. Please do."

--

Alfred grumbled angrily as he marched Matthew to his car, grabbing his younger brother by the wrist with an uncharacteristic force behind the move. The smaller teen winced and whispered, "Al… You're hurting me."

The wrist-grabber in question merely brushed off the comment with a curt mumble of "Don't care…" Matthew cast his eyes downward, one obstinate blonde curl bouncing directly in front of his pink nose. He did feel, admittedly, a _bit_ ashamed over how he had ratted out his brother to their father like that. The other boy had then been, consequently, the recipient of a long berating lecture that had most definitely set them back a few minutes. The Canadian wished he could just drive alone for what seemed like the billionth time.

Still sulking, Alfred opened the passenger's side door and nearly threw his brother in, the younger boy gasping in pain as his side hit the gear shift. _Hard_. The American looked like he was nearly on the verge of apologizing as he glanced at Matthew with a concerned eye, but he thought better of it and just slammed the door shut. He strode to the other side, a look of anger still etched on his face.

Climbing in with not the slightest air of grace about it, Alfred started the vehicle, engine roaring to life as the radio auto-started itself. Immediately, the speakers began pounding so loud, the pained blonde in the passenger's seat thought his eardrums would combust. Even if he _had_ screamed in fright, it would have been in vain, for nothing was audible over the bassline's slow, steady _thump thump_.

And with a screech of tires, the two were off.

--

Matthew had found a way to tolerate the insanely loud music pounding out of the car's awfully abused sound system. If he popped his ears, and tilted his head _just-so_… It was possible to hear just a dull thudding sound. The resulting rhythm was actually quite relaxing, and in a manner of minutes the Canadian was deeply asleep, head lolling onto Alfred's cotton-clad shoulder with a little plop.

The older brother stiffened and tried to shrug off the dozing parasite, but soon found the task to be impossible, and therefore stopped his fruitless attempts and let Matthew regain his comfortable position with a resigned sigh. The younger boy slept on, violet eyes lightly closed.

The vehicle finally came to an abrupt halt in front of the school with another piercing shriek from the tires, which smoked slightly at the rough treatment. As Matthew's blonde head hit the window violently, he jolted awake and yelled, "Ow, damn!" He shot a look over at his brother, but faltered when he saw that the expression still lurked on his face.

Silently, the pair disembarked the car, grabbing their books and walking up to the quad, Hetalia High's epicenter. Alfred instantly let his face relax into a soft grin as he meshed with a large crowd who instantly loved him (shit, who _didn't_ in this school?), and Matthew, disgusted with how much of a damn _actor_ that boy was, stalked off to meet up with his best friend, Antonio.

The coffee-skinned boy did not realize he was being looked at, and so was propped up very lazily against a wall in the central breezeway, listening to his iPod and eating, of all things, a tomato. Violet eyes lit up as the junior noticed this, the boy's face cracking into a huge smile as he laughed and ran to see him. '_Some people never change_.'

"'Toni! Over here!" The brunette, upon realizing his name was being called, took out his earbuds and glanced around, turning slowly. Big mistake.

Antonio was glomped ferociously from behind as his jubilant friend laughed lightly, saying, "Missed you!" He spun around and gathered up his petite blonde friend into a warm bear hug, chuckling and ruffling the smaller boy's hair. "Hola, Matt!" Matthew felt a little rush as he was called by his familiar nickname, grabbing the brunette's iPod hastily and pressing '_Now Playing_' with a practiced hand.

As "Black Cat" by Mayday Parade flashed on the screen, Matthew looked fondly at the familiar cover art, thinking with a smile that Antonio really hadn't changed at all. The taller of the two gave the blonde an affectionate noogie, saying, "_Dang_ man, you're still a little shorty! Nothing like Al…"

He trailed off as he noticed Matthew's face growing gloomy. Realizing his mistake, he backtracked frantically, swearing in Spanish under his breath as he did so and setting down his precious red tomato. "I'm sorry! I really am… Matt, I didn't even think abou-" "It's okay, 'Toni. You didn't mean it."

The tomato lover gave him a bashfully grateful look, chocolate eyes somber and remorseful. He knew what a sensitive topic Matthew's brother was to him…

With an awkward cough and a pat on the shoulder, Matthew broke the tense silence and said (in an unusually loud voice), "Yes, well, erm, let's get to first period. You have English, right?" Antonio mentally shook himself out of his reverie and replied, "Ah, y-yeah."

The blonde took his friend's wrist lightly and began to walk towards the large building to their right that housed the English and History classrooms. Matthew, being on the smaller side, was constantly jostled by the swarm of people moving to _their_ respective classrooms. This continued for a while, until, in a burst of fanfare and abnormally loud laughter, the football players strutted by, making out with their girlfriends and glorifying his brother endlessly.

The horde, passing through the crowd like they weren't even there, had managed to break Matthew and Antonio's holds on each other, separating them quite effectively in the mass of students struggling to get inside before the bell.

A bit panicked, the Canadian yelled, "Antonio? 'Toni! Are you th-" He was silenced by long arms that were most certainly not the Spaniard's snaking themselves around his waist. Cold lips found their way to the blonde's ear as someone whispered, "Hey there, birdie. Lost your way?" There was a derisive chuckle.

Matthew turned red and wheeled around, but all he saw was the same crowd of people passing by, none of them even looking twice at him (as he was practically invisible, anyways). He was pondering who it had been when he was interrupted by a warm hand on his shoulder. Looking up, the violet-eyed boy saw only Antonio, staring at him in concern.

"You okay, querida?" "Eh?" "You look a little confused…" Matthew just shook his head. "I'm fine, really. C'mon, we're going to be late, 'Toni!" The other teen, still worried, allowed himself to be dragged into the cool building at last.

--

After much checking of maps and schedules, the odd pair finally stumbled into the correct room, approximately three seconds before the bell rang. Ignoring the strange looks they were garnering from their classmates, Antonio and Matthew sat down quickly, panting from the exertion of running frantically back and forth in the wing, traversing the huge flight of stairs more than once. The blonde took out a notebook as the teacher began to talk.

"My name is Mr. Edelstein. You may _not_ call me by any other name, understood?" Though the already-bored class stayed silent as the grave, the tall brunette took this as a sign of assent, and droned on, pausing several times to fix his elaborate collar.

Though Matthew was a strong student, even he could not help but feel fatigue creeping up on him. Exhausted, he allowed his lavender eyes to roam the classroom absently, wondering if Alfred had a great teacher who absolutely loved him and would pass the jerk no matter what. Mentally, the blonde snorted. He probably did, it would just be his luck.

_Damn_, Mr. Edel-something still wasn't done? It had been nearly twenty minutes since the bell had tolled, and disregarding the small primping-pauses, there had been no stopping the man. Matthew looked around the room, surveying each and every face in an attempt spurred from boredom to see if there was anyone he knew in the class.

Let's see, there was Elizaveta, the pretty brunette who always giggled whenever she saw him and Antonio together and whipped out a camera (he wasn't so sure about her), Kiku, who usually requested copies of said pictures, a few other familiar faces such as Ludwig and Feliciano, and the rest were unknown to him.

Matthew jumped a bit as he saw that a boy sitting right behind him had eyes that were actually _red_. I mean, was that even possible? The snow-white hair made said eye color even more dubious. Perhaps the glowing crimson came from contacts? (That must be it, he decided.)

The boy he was looking at glanced up, saw him, and, before the petite blonde even had a chance to turn away, licked his lips. Matthew's eyes widened as he flushed like a beet and turned quickly, breathing just a bit faster as he struggled to pay attention to Mr… Mr… Okay, his name was impossible.

--

Thirty minutes later, class was nearly over, and the Canadian had let all thoughts of the white-haired teen escape him. That is, until he felt a hand tap his shoulder lightly. Reluctantly, the blonde looked back.

The other gave a big grin at the attention and immediately held up his notebook, in which surprisingly neat, large letters were scrawled in the margin. It read, "3:15 at The Point. You in, birdie?"

The nickname gave Matthew a jolt. Surprised, and a bit indignant, the boy whispered, "Y-You're the guy who-" "Matthew Williams!" yelled Mr. Edelstein. The blonde stiffened as he whirled around and responded innocently, "Yes?"

The teacher frowned at the behavior, saying, "Don't give me that! Pay attention, please." Matthew cast his eyes downward, muttering, "Okay." Mr. Edelstein, satiated, went on to describe (at much length) the importance of good study habits. Antonio gave his friend a sympathetic look, mouthing, "What's up?" The petite blonde, feeling resentment towards his 'friend' sitting behind him, just shook his head.

The teen considered the silverette's invitation, despite the trouble he had caused. Maybe he was actually a decent guy? After all, Matthew always had been the type of person to give others a chance… Coming to a decision, he picked up his pen and began to write his reply, scribbling quickly.

Upon the note's completion, he faked a yawn, bringing his hands up as if to stretch and dropping the small paper surreptitiously onto the desk behind him. The action, thankfully, went unnoticed by the frazzled Mr. Edelstein, who was now reading from some sort of syllabus in the most monotone voice Matthew had ever heard. A single white eyebrow was raised as the other picked up the message, unfolding it and reading the note under his desk. His face broke into a huge smile as he whispered, "Awesome."

Antonio looked quizzically at the two, feeling the beginnings of jealousy creep into the pit of his stomach. Who was the white-haired bastard, and why was _he_ talking to Matt? Averting his dark eyes, he turned slightly so that he faced Mr. Edelstein again and steeled his jaw. It was nothing.

Before he could consider what the two's relations were, the bell rang shrilly and made all the sleepy students jump out of their seats, except the red-eyed boy, who just chuckled. Antonio glared as he leaned forward to whisper to the blonde, who blushed and laughed, hooking an arm around the taller student's shoulder.

As all the others vacated the room, so did Mr. Edelstein, a cup of coffee in one hand and lecture notes in the other (and _oh_, what fun next class would be…). The silverette finally spoke out loud to him and Matthew, as they were the only three left in the room. "Mein _Gott_, I thought that guy would never shut up! I'm Gilbert, by the way, birdie."

Matthew smiled and said, "H-Hello, Gilbert." Antonio looked darkly at the German, saying, "What were you talking to Matt about just now?" Said blonde opened his mouth to answer, but the other teen beat him to the punch, blowing off the inquiry with a casual, "Oh, so that's birdie's na-" "Don't call him that."

Gilbert just stared at the seething Spaniard, who had risen to his feet. Matthew wrung his hands nervously at the outburst, walking cautiously over to his friend and saying, "It's okay, 'Toni. Calm down."

Antonio gave him a questioning look before saying, "Fine. Come on, Matt." A forced smile was given to the red-eyed German before the petite blonde was led away hastily. Matthew gazed up at him as he said, "You didn't have to do that."

"He looked shifty. I dunno… Stay away from him." Yellow eyebrows delicately furrowed at the command. "But…" Antonio's eyes locked with his, and the Canadian shivered at the intensity of the stare. "He could be bad news. Don't let him near you."

--

Second and third period passed by in an almost dreamlike state for Matthew, who was lost in daydreams of what would happen after school. The Point was… a club. So would there be dancing? Talking? Drinking? He squirmed uncomfortably at the last option.

And anyway, he was only sixteen, nowhere _near_ the legal age of 21… How on earth would they even get in? If it involved lying, well, he could only hope Alfred's talent for it had rubbed off on him (though it probably hadn't).

The thoughts were causing him to drift off, eyes absently locked onto his painting. It was only art class… surely nobody would notice if he were to stop working, right? Wrong.

A large glob of cyan paint that had been coagulating on the immobile end of his brush for nearly fifteen minutes chose that moment to drop, landing with a kind of squishing noise smack-dab onto the face of the woman the laboring blonde had spent a week and a half on over the summer as an extra-credit assignment.

Matthew said, "Fuck…" softly under his breath, jumping to his feet to retrieve paint thinner or something to remedy the situation. As he reached for the bottle, his hand met another's, and they both withdrew. "A-Ah, I'm sorry for…" He trailed off as he looked up and saw his brother.

Alfred chuckled and said, "It's all good." The younger of the two said somewhat caustically, "Well, _you're_ in better spirits now, I see." His brother waved a hand dismissively, saying, "I'm over that, bro. Had a good day, so we're all cool, right?"

At the hopeful smile, Matthew's grudge melted a little, giving way to a small smile. "Yeah, Al. All good." Alfred flashed his signature hero-grin and gave the boy a thumbs-up, handing him the bottle of thinner. "You can have this. I'm too amazing for it, anyway."

They laughed quietly, Matthew beginning to walk back to his seat in the third row. The teen would have continued walking had his older brother not said, "So, I'm driving you home today, right?"

"Actually," the smaller boy's heart swelled a bit with pride, and he struggled to keep his smile under control, "I-I'm going to catch a ride with someone else. We're going to The Point."

Alfred said, "Woah, _seriously_?" He walked slowly toward his brother again, blue eyes full of suspicion. "Huh, with who?" Matthew blushed. "Someone named Gilbert." The jock's eyes went as wide as saucers as he loudly inquired (with absolutely _no_ regard for anyone who might listen in), "Holy _SHIT_! Gilbert Beilschmidt?" "I… guess?"

The taller blonde gave an impatient huff, complete with eye roll and all. "_God_, Matt. Tall, whitish hair, freaky red eyes? _That_ Gilbert?" Matthew nodded, tilting his head and asking, "You know him?"

"Know him? I love that dude! Good guy." The Canadian let out a relieved sigh. "Thank maple. I thought you might be enemies or something." "Nah, we're chill." Matthew smiled, happy that his brother approved of what might be a new friend. That is… his violet eyes flickered down sadly… If Antonio got past whatever _their_ problem was.

He brushed the stray curl that never failed to bother him behind his ear, though he knew it was a pointless gesture. It would always bounce back. Sure enough, within seconds it sprung back with even more vigor than before. Alfred shook his head, smiling at the persistent cowlick. "Well, Matt, gotta get back to work. See you tonight, then." "Yeah."

And Matthew grabbed the white bottle, sitting down and losing himself in thoughts of the coming afternoon again. He couldn't help but grin.

--

LONG CHAPTER IS LONG. :D But at least I got the point across [Yes? No?]… Please tell me if any characters are OOC or anything; I hate that in a fic, and it wouldn't be right if mine was that way too. There will be a darker plot than there seems to be right now, don't be fooled by the humor in this chapter…

To clear up any possible confusion, some ages for you:

Matthew: 16

Alfred: 17

Gilbert:17 (held back sophomore year)

Antonio: 16

I think that's it. Next chapters (probably) won't be as long, but we'll see. I also have softball all this week and next, so don't expect the fastest updates ever.

My first fanfiction, so again, be nice when you hit that green button. :3

** IMPORTANT! ** Follow me on Twitter for story/chapter updates, pairing votes, and plot twist votes! Your opinion matters! Username is xXsoundlinesXx, find it also on my profile page.~


	2. Shall we depart, little bird?

A/N: Yup. Starting the second chapter tonight. OWNED. :D Written while listening to The Minstrel's Prayer by Cartel, quite possibly the best song on my writing playlist (for the full list, see my profile). Almost didn't do anything else after I posted Chapter 1, was really getting into rereading _for the FIFTH TIME_ Jones Paranormal Investigation Agency by Feux Follets. The hands-down best fanfiction I have ever read (next to Awakening by Gemini Star01).

Enjoy the story as our plot grows closer…

--

Matthew drummed his fingers impatiently on the cool wooden table in front of him. Art class would be over in a mere three minutes, but the squirming blonde had whiled his remaining patience away quite some time ago. He'd already put his brushes, palate, and fixed painting back into his bag, and was now incorrigibly anxious for school to end. But it seemed that no matter how intensely he stared at the white clock on the wall, it simply would not move any faster.

Stealthily, Alfred came up from behind him, wrapping his tan arms lightly around his brother's small neck. The motion caused the Canadian to jump nearly out of his seat, chiding Alfred with an "_Al_fred!" and several clucks of his tongue.

That was about all the attention the attacker received, however, as Matthew just turned back to the clock and gazed at it again, as if hypnotized. The jock furrowed his eyebrows, whispering directly into his brother's ear, "Matt?" "_Ssh_! Go away, Al."

A cute pout formed on Alfred's face. "Why? I wuff joo…~" Ignoring the remark that would surely make even his killer gym teacher Ludwig soften a little, Matthew just stared straight at the minute hand of the clock. It was moving so slowly… Couldn't it see that he had places to go?

Alfred sighed and released the entranced boy, grumbling, "So frigid…" and walking back to his assigned seat. The Canadian didn't even notice, legs trembling from strain as he sat literally on the very edge of his paint-stained stool. Under his breath, the teen mumbled, "C'mon, come _onnnn_…"

It was so torturously close now, the second hand moving rapidly toward the number 12. Almost there, almost… The small black appendage passed number 9. _Aaand_…

RRRRING! The shrill bell pierced the usually calm atmosphere of the art classroom. While the room was filling with the rustling sounds of other students packing their belongings away, Matthew was already out the door, bolting through the crowded hall with shouts of, "Sorry! Excuse me! Out of my way! Emergency!" and the like.

Eventually, the puffing blonde reached the south end of the corridor, throwing open the door to the main parking lot and wincing as a gust of cold air sliced through his red hoodie. Steeling his jaw, he bravely made his way out onto the cold asphalt, having to literally push his body full-force against the opposing winds. The Canadian's fair hair whipped around crazily, at times rather effectively blocking his view.

Squinting and tearing up in the (well, almost) monsoon, Matthew gasped for breath as he swirled this way and that, attempting frantically to locate the shining white hair. Maple, and the guy's eyes were red, it shouldn't be this hard! Unfortunately for our brave little underdog… It was.

Sighing in despair, he went to work manually searching each row of the mammoth concrete slab. In the midst of the third sector, however, the teen heard his name being shouted, straining to hear it the second time over the wind's dull but constant roar. "Matthew? _Matthew_! _MATT_!"

Confused, he did an about-face, only to get the breath knocked out of him by a large yellow projectile. He screamed at the sudden collision, falling to the ground rather ungracefully with an '_oof_!' Looking up from his uncomfortable (to say the least) new position under what appeared to be a yellow labrador, he saw the worried face of Gilbert floating above him, in all its red-eyed glory.

Matthew groaned as the large dog perched itself directly on his stomach, wiggling and drooling very contentedly, with the occasional tail wag that hit in a place he'd rather not mention. The boy that remained standing sensed his discomfort and courteously lifted the pooch up and off the winded Canadian, who nodded breathlessly in thanks. Gilbert gave an easy smile. "No prob."

They were there for a few moments in a tolerable silence, Matthew's heavy breathing and the gusts of wind being the only background noise, before the silverette leaned down gallantly and said, "May I help you to your feet?" There was a chuckle from both parties, then a shy nod.

The blonde was hoisted to his feet with no trouble, and Matthew couldn't help but notice how damn defined Gilbert's arms were. He was rudely snapped out of his reverie when the taller of the two said, "You ready, birdie?" His voice broke slightly from the strain of half-yelling over the wind; the Canadian pretending not to notice all the while.

His dog still lay lazily on the concrete, drooling as if he were trying to make a river. The blonde casually gestured in its direction. "What's his name?" The owner smiled affectionately down at the soft lab before answering, "Gilbird 2.0." Upon seeing the confused look his new friend shot him, the silverette decided it wise to explain himself.

"Well, ya see, the awesome me had a bird. Emphasis on _had_. My buddy's sis wanted it and said that if she didn't get it as a Christmas gift, she'd castrate me with a frying pan. That chick's batshit insane. So that bird's name was Gilbird, and-" Matthew piped up after he had considered the boy's description. "Are you talking about Elizaveta?"

Gilbert let out a silvery laugh. "You know her too? Small world. Anyway, so she got the birdie, which is the actual bird, babe, not you…" He clarified himself, pointer finger erect in the air. "And after Eliza got her hands on the cute lil' fluffball, never got it back. Obviously. So I went out and bought myself a newer, _awesomer_ pet, of the exact same color!" A dramatic gesture towards the dog, now lazily licking its paw.

Matthew gave a little grin and said, "Cool. Wanna go?" "Yeah, sure." The white-haired boy paused a second before saying, "Wait. The image ain't right yet. You still look sixteen." "But I _am_ sixt-"

Gilbert cut him off with sudden hands pressing themselves to his head, completely messing up his already-windblown hairstyle. He mussed the blonde locks until, somehow, they framed his face in a way the silverette could only describe as 'awesome.' The confused Canadian hesitantly allowed his hair to be redone, blushing noticeably as pale fingers caught on his stubborn cowlick and managed to make the whole process of smoothing it down feel infinitely sensual.

After the mini-makeover was done in a manner of minutes (the rest of which was spent perfectly fixing his outfit and swapping out the scarlet sweatshirt for a tighter fitting leather jacket that Gilbert kept a spare of), the artist stepped back to view his creation, pleased with what greeted his eyes.

Matthew looked awesome, if he did say so himself. Windswept blonde hair perfectly tousled, he stood semi-awkwardly, arms hovering out to the side so as not to wrinkle the jacket. Gilbert just smiled and gave the shaking arm a light tug, opening with his other hand a car door. The blonde started; he hadn't even noticed that the convertible was his, and as his eyes roamed over the shining deep red finish, he was impressed.

"Let's go." said the red-eyed teen, helping Matthew carefully slide into the vehicle. The other quickly interjected, "B-But Gilbert. We're going to The Point… Don't we need to be 21?" There was a confident grin on the silverette's face, and the Canadian at his side stiffened slightly. That was the same expression his brother wore before he did something _really_ stupid.

Gilbert reached into his jeans pocket, hand feeling around for a brief moment before the smile widened and his hand resurfaced with two small white cards. "But you _are_ 21…" here the schemer paused to read the shining ID card's small print, "Adam Norton."

Matthew's jaw dropped to the car's floor as he sat there, utterly frozen. The other boy merely laughed, giving him a carefree pat on the head and stating, "Well, we'd better go, eh, Adam?" 'Adam' said nothing as he slid the cards back into their denim refuge and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Um, I-I…" began Matthew. Gilbert glanced over his way. "Yeah?" A short pause, then, "Nothing. Should be fun." The silverette nodded in assent, revving the car with a soft purr from the engine.

"Yeah, birdie. Fun indeed."

--

_**I GOTS BANNED FROM MAH LAPTOP**_. T_T Had to wait three days to post this. –fails as an authoress- Oh well, plot development (maybe?) next chapter. Can't wait!~

P.S. If you 3 the modern update of Gilbird, send some love via la green button down there.

REVIEWS = _LOVE_

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	3. Take a Chance

A/N: Oh Lordy, vine-sama. Your review made me squee _hard_. XD I'm such a n00b at this stuffs. ANYWHO… Bah. School gets in the way of writing. (Ironic, eh?) I'll do my best!~ :o

_***edit: Broke my leg in a little accident on the 101. :/ That's why the delay :C***_

--

They stood silently in front of the heavy wooden door, music from inside the club pulsing through the ground and into their feet. Gilbert, a grand smile painting his face, glanced eagerly over at Matthew, hoping to see a happy, anxious expression. No such luck.

The blonde looked to be on the verge of fainting, bright violet eyes nervously flicking between the silverette himself, a very prominent signboard reading, '_21 and over_,' and a very large, burly bouncer standing stoically to their right. The man, decked out in a black suit that would probably fit both teens at once, stared suspiciously at the hyperventilating Canadian at the entrance.

Gilbert, always quick to invent a story, said quickly, "Ah, Adam's just a bit nervous. It's his first real club _experience_, y'know?" A confident grin helped add to the image, and he pistol-whipped out the two shining ID cards. The bouncer, scanning them, swiftly nodded and gestured to the door.

Matthew felt a bit confused, whispering softly as they walked to the wooden doors, "Gil, how'd you get a picture of me?" That same shit-eating grin stayed aloft as the red-eyed boy said casually, "Swiped your school pic from the records." The blonde just chuckled and shook his head, pointedly ignoring the gurgling feeling in his abdomen.

The cool bronze handle felt cool and reassuring against the smaller teen's sweaty palm as he breathed out slowly. Inhaling once again, he squeezed his eyes shut tight, heaving open the door.

Immediately, the pair was assaulted by a loud techno beat pulsing through the heavy atmosphere of the club. Matthew's eyes fluttered open a crack, and the Canadian caught sight of a dance floor in the center of the massive room, which had several colors of strobe lights flashing over it. A crimson spotlight, painfully bright, flashed over the duo momentarily before panning the rest of the cavern.

Besides the flashing lights, the club felt painfully dark, and Matthew couldn't help but notice how _comfortable_ his new friend seemed. The silver-haired boy, as if on cue, grabbed the blonde's small wrist and led him to a bar that bordered the raised floor now positively stuffed with scantily dressed women and men who looked as if they had just returned from a meeting, ties loosened noticeably.

At the long counter that smelled of rubbing alcohol, Gilbert pulled up stools for both of them, shouting to the bartender some ten feet down. "Hey, Francis!" Matthew felt uncomfortably misplaced at the fact that his friend actually knew the bar owner's name. He tried to tune out the conversation with the beat of the newest song, which had a slow, sensual thud every few seconds. He let his eyelids flutter shut, blonde eyelashes crashing down, and just felt the music. It was really a decent song, if one took the time to listen, but it had just seemed to him as if everyone were just screwing each other while clothed instead of hearing the beats.

The Canadian continued like this for some time, letting go of his other senses as his ears tingled pleasantly. However, he quickly snapped back to reality when a cold hand rested itself on his shoulder and Gilbert's voice called, "Matt?"

He spun back around in his stool, the metal creaking slightly in protest, and looked at the German. "Mmhm?" The silverette said, "Someone wants to meet you." And indeed, the Frenchman behind the counter did.

Flipping his short blonde waves behind his shoulder, the bartender greeted him with a slight French accent, speaking louder than normal for the music pounding away in the background. "Hello, Matthew. You're a friend of Gilbert's?" The boy, perking up at being addressed, replied, "Yeah. Who are you?"

The blonde chuckled, leaning in on the wooden counter on one lanky arm. "I'm Francis Bonnefoy. And _you_, my dear, are one fine specimen of teenage a-" He was cut off by an elbow to the face, courtesy of the fuming Gilbert across the bar. Matthew gasped, standing quickly as the cringing man held his jaw gently and the silverette glared.

"Damn it, Francis!" exclaimed the German. "I thought we've been over this: _No__ picking up my friends_." The other blonde grumbled a sulky, "Whatever," straightening slowly and sighing. He stroked the fine blonde hairs just barely visible on his chin as he drawled, "Well now, and what would you two handsome gentlemen care to drink?"

Gilbert answered quickly, obviously accustomed to the question. "Two screwdrivers." Francis nodded politely and turned to the shelves behind him, grabbing a gray long-necked bottle that read, 'Gray Goose.' Matthew glanced hesitantly at his friend, who was now tapping his Converse-clad feet to the beat. "Um, G-Gilbert…"

One white eyebrow was cocked as the older of the two stared at him. The blonde cleared his throat and said, "Erm, I d-don't drink." He shut his eyes, expecting derisive laughter or a snort of disapproval. He was, therefore, quite surprised when Gilbert's body pressed against his in an embrace. The red-eyed teen laughed as they broke apart, ruffling his hair. "Now you do."

Matthew's stomach dropped as he faked a smile, suddenly losing all sense of why he was here. He felt like a little kid that the grown-ups were too polite or embarrassed to send out of the room. His train of thought was cut short as graceful hands placed two fruity-smelling glasses in front of him.

"Here you go, boys." Francis retied his black apron and sauntered away to fill an order for a young-looking teen with some of the largest eyebrows Matthew had ever seen, who had probably gotten in the same way he had. The Canadian made a mental note to talk to him as he tremulously picked up his beverage.

Gilbert watched him, slightly amused as Matthew placed trembling lips to the edge of his glass, seeming to be in the throes of a particularly awful inner conflict. Finally, however, he just put his mouth to the glass and went bottoms-up, downing nearly a third of the drink in one huge gulp.

The silverette tensed in anticipation for the boy's reaction, watching his face intently. Matthew broke away from the drink, gasping a bit. He turned to Gilbert with wide eyes and a little grin, stating loudly, "It's good!" Relieved, red eyes lit up in excitement. He jubilantly said, "Isn't it, though?" "Yeah, it's like orange juice, but… better."

He laughed boyishly. "That's the vodka, birdie." "Mm, yes, well, whatever it is, I like it. And I expect more." Gilbert picked up his own beverage, taking a swig as he responded, "No worries there." Matthew registered a strange tickling in his throat, noting also that the world seemed a little more… lively now.

--

Okay, scratch that. Two hours later, the world was _great_. And he was fucking invincible as Matthew the hero! Suck on _that_, Alfred Jones! Boy, was alcohol just effing amazing. He contemplated this while resting quite comfortably on Gilbert's torso, giggling flirtatiously and breathing in the other teen's scent. A hand buried itself into his blonde locks and played with them, fingers still catching on the curly strand pointing straight up.

Strangely, Matthew didn't mind that hair being played with, taking shuddering breaths as he moaned quietly. It felt good, why had he resisted this before? He registered an unfamiliar face leaning in concern over him. Who was- Oh yeah, that Francis person.

He heard the Frenchman say to Gilbert, "Mon chou, perhaps you should take the boy home. There's always tomorrow, after all, and it's best to not let him get too drunk." "Aw, c'mon, we haven't even danced." "Gilbert…" Here the older blonde paused to reevaluate his word choice. "Do you think right now he can walk a straight line, let alone dance?"

Were they talking about him? Blonde eyebrows knitted together. Well now, _that_ was just rude.

"And, Gilbert, are you okay to drive? I know you only had one drink, but that is the limit, and-" "God, Francis, quit yer worrying. I'll be fine taking him home." The blonde sighed and nodded, walking through the bar's small opening and over to Gilbert. He hugged his friend and whispered something into the younger teen's ear which earned him a slap to the face.

Face burning, he said, "Later," and picked up Matthew gently, carrying him out of the club's heavy doors with little difficulty. The Canadian groaned and said, "Gil?" "Mm?" "Kiss me."

The silverette flushed a deep red, averting his eyes to the sidewalk as he made his way to the convertible. "Birdie, you're drunk. You won't remember this tomorrow. No regrets, okay?" "But I _want_ you to."

Matthew gazed up at him with hazy eyes, licking his lips and smiling. Gilbert ignored him as the pair reached his car. The German leaned over to place the drunken boy in the passenger's seat, buckling him in gently.

As soon as Gilbert had climbed into the driver's seat, the blonde sitting next to him leaned over and pressed cool lips to his neck, nipping lightly. Matthew whispered through the kisses, "C'mon, Gil. Make me f-feel good…" The silverette's self control finally snapped as he pushed Matthew's hips against his and crashed their lips together.

The Canadian moaned and whimpered, "G-Ah!-Gilbert…" Said teen's hands slipped into Matthew's back pockets as his tongue invaded the younger boy's mouth. Gilbert's skilled fingers lightly slipped under the teen's jacket and shirt, finding his nipples and rubbing soft circles around them. For a while, these were the only sounds that passed between them, moans and whispers. The vehicle's windows started fogging up.

And then, just as soon as it had started, it stopped. Gilbert pulled away with a small gasp, sincerely hoping Matthew wouldn't remember this. The other looked at him with a befuddled expression. "Why'd you stop?" The silverette gave him no answer, silently turning to the wheel and revving the engine.

"Gilbert?" This time his inquiry was so soft the German could pretend not to hear it.

--

After the convertible had traveled a good five blocks, Gilbert realized with a jolt that he was instinctively driving toward his house. Turning to his inebriated passenger (and seriously hoping he wasn't too drunk to have forgotten the answer), he said, "Matt, where's your house?"

The small Canadian giggled and said, '864 Cherry Street.' Gilbert nodded. Okay, that was good. He knew the neighborhood fairly well. He made an illegal U-turn at the next light (much to the fury of a middle-aged woman in a Suburban behind them) and headed to the main boulevard.

The lights reflected off Gilbert's face, and Matthew could just catch a glimpse of his face. He looked… angry.

He decided not to ask.

--

"I don't know if I'm strong enough to turn away, if I'm strong enough to fight you off, if I'm man enough to turn you off." – A Promise, Like A Song- The Scene Aesthetic.

--

Rawr. So after my leg injury, Mr. Laptop decides to crash. T_T I'll keep at it.

On the brightside, my doctor likes Hetalia! :D I was freaking amazed. We had discussions of Germany's 'realtionship' with Italy over morphine and a big, unattractive cast. _ And now I'm all hyped up on pain meds, so forgive if this chappie makes zero sense. And also, I'm fixing Chapter 1 for an error a kind reviewer pointed out. Expect edits soon. :/

OMG, dark plot starts next chapter. And it hurts to write already. D:


	4. White Lies and White Lines

A/N: Written while listening to Follow Me Down by 3OH!3 ft. Neon Hitch on repeat. Annoying as heck, but catchy…~ Agh, been purposely avoiding this chapter. Darkish plot starts to come through. But only just. You'll catch my drift, though…

As a sidenote, I just love the fact that Allie and Mattie live in a "_white__house_" LOL BECAUSE IN 1812 TH-_**shot**_-

I am a n00b, so I don't know how to respond to reviews (-**fail**_**shot**_-) but don't think I don't read them! I read every review and they make me smile, squeal, and occasionally flail. I also get story alert, fave, and fave author alerts, and love every one of those too. Just a _really_ huge thank you. ))

**Also, don't say Gilbert is a douche in this chapter. Well, I mean, he is, but he has reasons that will be revealed in the not-too distant future.**

--

Alfred Jones was pouting. Really, here it was, the first day of his senior year, and he had no one to hang out with? _God_. That was pathetic… even his brother Matthew had plans.

Sighing, the American turned wearily over on his futon and stood up, rubbing his eyes sleepily (though it was only seven) and picking up his dark blue backpack. Might as well do homework… The teen shivered at the thought, but went and sat down at his oak desk diligently anyway. God, it would kill his reputation if his teammates found out he actually did his work.

Uneasily, Alfred put down his pencil and considered it, finally deciding that it wasn't worth it. Why waste time learning about quadratic functions when he could be having fun? _Anything_ was more fun than that.

From out of the blonde's pocket emerged an iPhone, which he used to dial the number of one of his best friends in the entire school. Nimble thumbs scrolled through the contacts list until, sure enough, the name Kirkland, Arthur (my bitch haha :p) popped onto the sleek screen. Smiling, he hit the green 'call' button and flopped onto his couch.

A groggy voice picked up on the third ring, mumbling a slow, "H'lo?" Alfred cracked a smile. "Hey, Artie!" "Oh God, it's you. Prat."

He laughed easily, the noise seeming to bubble out of his throat. "You know ya love me, man." "Perhaps I do… Y'know who I saw here a little while ago?" From the loud music, sounds of people laughing, and bartenders calling out finished orders, the American assumed that 'here' (since Arthur was so wonderfully coherent at the moment) was The Point, a club on the far west side of town.

"Hmm, who?" Alfred wasn't terribly interested in the answer, grabbing a remote from on top of his pillow and turning on Comedy Central on mute. Though the sound was off, Arthur was quick to snap, "Turn that off."

Alfred said with a sigh, "There, it's off." "No it isn't." Damn.

The teen lifted the black device and pressed 'Off,' effectively killing the television. "Thank you." Freaky psychic Briton. "As I was saying, I was just minding my own business here-" "Drinking plenty, I'll bet." "Sod off."

It was no secret that his friend loved to drink, despite his age. The smaller blonde had gotten into his father's expensive liquor stash at the age of 15, and, well, things had gone downhill from there. Though he acted indifferent about Arthur's 'hobby,' Alfred was sometimes worried for his friend.

"And I see your little brother, drunk as daylights, giggling in the lap of Gilbert Beilschmidt." The American shot straight up at this, saying loudly, "He was drinking? Matthew was?"

"Like you wouldn't believe." Alfred's fists balled up so tightly that his knuckles blanched white. "Yeah, can I call you tomorrow?" The blonde's teeth were clenched. Not bothering to wait for a response, he hit 'End Call,' throwing the phone at his wall so hard he heard a small cracking sound. He didn't even care.

Matthew Williams didn't drink. He would never… Alfred vaguely remembered an umpteenth pedantic lecture his younger brother had given him not a month ago on the dangers of drinking, how it was a terrible thing to get into and how it destroyed your willpower. He hadn't been listening.

But if the Canadian was drinking… Did that mean he had been pressured to? And, God forbid, that something else had happened? No, no, he had to calm down. He trusted Gilbert, or, at least, he once had. Nothing could happen…

"Right?" Alfred asked this last part aloud, voice echoing eerily in the empty bedroom. No one answered.

--

The convertible slowly pulled to a dead halt in front of the two-story white house that belonged to Matthew's parents. The Canadian himself had stayed silent the entire ride. Sobering up marginally, he could feel himself beginning to lose the haze he had been in an hour ago.

He chanced another glance at the driver's seat, where Gilbert sat quietly, still wearing the same expression of controlled anger, hands still gripping the steering wheel. The blonde took a risk and decided to speak, voice cracking a bit as he faltered, "W-Well, thanks for a good time. I really enj-"

Cold lips met his again with no pretense, the other teen grabbing Matthew's collar roughly to pull him across the seat. The Canadian gave a muffled sound of protest and pulled away, only to be grabbed again, this time with more force behind the grasp. His arms actually _hurt_.

Finally, the silverette relented, breaking the kiss with a wet sound. He glared at the smaller boy, who shakily said, "I r-really don't want to anymore. It's late; I should be getting inside…"

The German said in an accusatory tone, "I thought you liked me." "W-Well, I do, but I just… I have to do homework." Gilbert snorted loudly, and for a second Matthew caught a fleeting glance of the sweet, funny Gilbert who had invited him that very morning. Was it really that long ago?

"That's a bullshit excuse, and you know it, birdie." The Canadian could _smell_ the alcohol on his friend's breath. He hadn't just had one drink, had he? A hand reached out to take him by the wrist, and again Matthew fell victim to his muscular grip. He felt his arm begin to bruise vividly. Mustering up all his courage, he said, "Gilbert. Let me g-"

He was cut off as Gilbert's other hand formed a fist and collided, hard, with his jaw. Matthew gasped as his head flew back to roughly smack the window.

At first, there was just silence, save for the blonde's ragged breaths. Then, he whispered, "Oh my God."

Gilbert's red eyes flashed dangerously. "Don't you ever fucking order me around. Understand?" Matthew was mute, blinking furiously in an attempt to not cry. '_Don't_ _cry don't cry don't cry he'll hit you again_-' His thoughts were stopped as the German next to him yelled, "_UNDERSTAND_?"

He nodded, blonde hair bobbing up and down. "Good." There was another tense moment between the two, this one considerably more hesitant. Minutes passed in a dense quiet. Finally, Gilbert leaned over and pressed apologetic butterfly kisses to the pale neck in front of him, whispering throatily, "I'm so sorry, birdie, I didn't mean to, you know I would never…"

Matthew closed his eyes and let himself believe it.

--

The small blonde traversed the stairs up to his porch quickly, eager just to get in his bed and sleep before the hangover hit tomorrow. He groaned at the thought, fumbling in the pocket of his repossessed hoodie for his keys. Fingers brushed over cool, sharp metal, and he knew he had found them.

Turning the house key in the lock, the Canadian entered swiftly and noiselessly, wanting to avoid inquiries about where he'd been and what happened to his cheek from his parents. Slipping off his shoes and leaving them by the door, he walked up the flight of stairs to his bedroom, opening the door carefully. After all, it would be bad news if it creaked.

As soon as the door softly clicked shut, Matthew pressed his forehead to the cool wood, inhaling deeply. He reached over and fumbled, searching for a light switch, finally finding one and flipping it up. The teen turned around, and had barely begun to take off the red sweatshirt when he saw that a very pissed-off Alfred Jones was sitting on his bed.

Matthew nearly screamed, lavender eyes widening and hand flying to cover his mouth. His brother got to his feet, whispering through clenched teeth, "So, you were drinking? And what the fuck happened to your face?" In the blue eyes, Matthew only saw anger, not concern.

The smaller brother was quick to explain, "Well, um, I th-thought it would be f-fun… And I fell… outside near the steps, there's some ice…" The Canadian thanked whoever was listening that he was observant enough to make sure that was true.

Alfred's face softened. "W-Well, I guess you do need to know the experience… And you were with Gilbert… But you're not going back there anytime soon, got it?" Matthew nodded gratefully. "And I'll tell Mom and Dad there's ice, they can salt it or something. In the meantime, you get yourself to bed, okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Al." "But what I really want to know…" Here the American wore a little smirk, and the blonde was instantly set on edge, "Is if Gilbert gave you that."

Alfred gestured in a vague manner to Matthew's neck, and the Canadian unconsciously brought his hand up to feel around, stopping when his fingers passed over a raised, tender oval. He groaned as the older of the two laughed jubilantly. "So you like guys, huh?" Matthew blushed furiously as he made futile attempts to cover the love mark he was sure was bright red.

But he couldn't help but wonder why his brother didn't seem more… freaked out. Instead, he just gave a little smile. His question was soon answered as Alfred made an announcement that left his mouth hanging open. "I'm bi, myself." "What? Seriously, Al?" "Yup! You didn't know…?"

He shook his head mutely as he considered the possibility of that. Alfred interrupted his thoughts with a whisper of, "So, is he okay to you? Does he treat you right?" Purple eyes locked with concerned teal ones as he whispered a lie that made his stomach churn.

"Yeah. He's a really good guy."

--

Oh gawsh. Abusive relationship fic. … I hope I can do the stages right. This is kind of dedicated to my friend Jess, who was in an abusive relationship for nearly a year. It's all better now though, and she does love Hetalia, so… Here's to you.

Anyway, funfunfun writing brotherly!Al. But lying!Mattie makes me sad :C

Review desu?~


	5. And here's a little hand to hold

A/N: The chapter is late because… I don't even know XD But thank you everyone! Your positive reviews mean the world to me, really. They give me a fuzzy feeling~ And LOLSAUCE. As soon as I typed the first 'Matthew Williams,' my background music (Cloak and Dagger by Brightwood) said, "Who are you? Who are you?" I was all -_-"…

Heheh. This chapter has a sad opening line…

Brotherly fluff! :3 And an unexpected plot twist for you luffly readers!~

**Just an FYI, Alfred told their parents Matt was sick. In case you get confused and all like, "She knows?" when she [Mom] (and yeah, I'm too lazy to give her a name XD) calls up to him… Yeah, she thinks it's stomach flu.**

--

Matthew Williams woke with a groan, rolling over to the side of his bed and promptly emptying his stomach into a decorative trash bin. Today would be wonderful, indeed.

Alfred peered in the doorway, speech obstructed by his toothbrush as he mumbled, "Yeah, don't even try school today, bro." He snorted in amusement, continuing to lather his teeth in Crest. Finally, he walked to his little brother (who was coiling in nausea on his bed) and spit unattractively into the thoroughly soiled wastebasket, a minty breath passing over Matthew's face and making him gag all over again.

The Canadian staggered to get up, nearly tripping over Kumajiro in the process. "Hey, Al," he inquired, "I-Is my face bruised much?" Not even glancing back, the other replied, "Yup. It's pretty bad."

As the younger of the two was currently incapacitated, Alfred quickly grabbed a hand mirror from the cluttered bathroom counter and handed it gingerly over, afraid that in the short span of time he might get vomited on. The blonde sighed as he surveyed the damage, wincing as he poked the already-purpling impact site.

"Mom iced the steps," said the American offhandedly. "Hmm," was the absentminded response from the hung-over teen sitting upright. Alfred was already packing his backpack, stuffing in books and binders haphazardly. He stopped halfway to the door, turning back around to gently kiss his brother on the top of the head. Matthew's eyes widened in surprise.

The jock whispered, "I love you." Matthew blushed, wondering where that came from. Nevertheless, he returned the sentiment, adding in an affectionate forehead-poke. Alfred, satiated, left with a quick, "See ya!"

The Canadian panted, flushed, and sank with a groan of pain into the pillow, wishing desperately for Advil. Or Antonio. Or both.

--

The jock currently roaming the halls felt a bit… uneasy. Almost like someone was… watching him? No, that was stupid. Pssh. A hero wouldn't worry about a trivial thing like that! So the blonde walked on, almost to the main hall.

Almost, almost… And our intrepid football hero squeaked loudly as a hand clamped firmly onto his shoulder, pulling him backwards with surprising force.

He wheeled around to find Gilbert Beilschmidt looking at him with a smirk, red eyes glowing. "Hey there, babe. Like the haircut! So about last night…" Alfred realized that his friend thought he was his brother. Well, _that_ certainly turned the tables. More often, it was the other way around.

Summoning all his willpower (and three years of Drama class experience), the teen forced a blush and said softly, "G-Gilbert…" "Yeah, birdie?" "Nothing. Y-You just look nice this morning."

Internally, Alfred went into hysterics, having trouble maintaining his coy smile and invisible persona as Gilbert gave a flattered look. "Why, thank you, babe. You look adorable as always. Taller, though…" The silverette frowned, just starting to measure respective heights when Alfred panicked. "It's nothing, you're probably just tired, Gil! Hahaha… ha."

Gilbert chuckled. "You're so weird, Matt. So," he gestured lazily to the American's jaw, "That didn't bruise, huh?" "H-Huh? Oh, yeah! I was surprised too…" Alfred made a mental note to tell Matthew that he needed to cover his bruise somehow by tomorrow.

"Listen, about that… I'm so sorry. Really." 'Huh?' thought the imposter. 'What's he apologizing for?' "I really didn't mean to, my hand just…" Alfred's blue eyes widened as he put two and two together. Gilbert continued on, unaware that he was digging himself deeper and deeper with every word. "And your arms didn't bleed or anything?"

There was _more_? The American looked fiercely at the German, taking a threatening step forward. "W-Woah, birdie! What's with that look, you…" He registered that the eyes burning holes into his weren't violet. They were blue- and vicious.

"Oh shit."

And Alfred's fist slammed soundly into his stomach. There were several screams, frantic teachers calling for order, and then nothing.

--

The phone's ring resounding from the kitchen made the Canadian currently leaning over porcelain he'd rather not be _this_ close to moan, clutching his ears in agony. His mother called up, "Sorry, dear!"

The neat woman picked up the device, answering with a "Hello, Jones residence? …He _WHAT_? Oh, yes, Principal Braginski, we _will_ have a _chat_ about this. I assure you. We'll be right there." She then hung up, teeth clenched.

She gently called up to her curious son, "Alfred apparently beat up another boy. I'm going to go get him, and-" "Wait, Mom!" "Yes?" "What was his name? The other boy?"

She thought for a minute before replying, "I think it was Gilbert or something like that, honey." She was already half out the door, heels clacking and keys jingling. The door was shut lightly as the Canadian's mind reeled. Upstairs, Matthew froze in his kneeling position, feeling sick for an entirely different reason.

He _knows_.

--

Alfred was clutching the minivan's cupholder for dear life, knuckles turning white. He was determined not to look in his mother's blazing eyes, which the football player was sure would scare even Natalia (his psycho ex-girlfriend) shitless.

As the vehicle rolled to a stop, the blonde literally flung himself out of there, not even waiting until it had stopped and thus suffering a rather bad fall as a result. But he persisted, bolting into the house far ahead of his mother and racing up the stairs. Matthew had lied. To his own brother. And he would pay.

--

Matthew was breathing heavily, in the midst of his third attempt that morning to stand up and get back to bed. This one was proving just as fruitless. He gave a weary sigh, lavender eyes fluttering shut as he sank back down the wall, pajamas now soaked with sweat.

'This is pointless. I should wait until Mom gets back an-' His thoughts were cut short by the door to his room slamming open so violently he screamed, hoping that the sudden intruder wouldn't find him in his bathroom. No such luck, sadly.

His brother looked down at him with such rage and fury that Matthew was frozen, kneeling pitifully on the floor with his arms wrapped around himself. Alfred finally spoke many moments later, spitting, "Get _up_. Get up _now_." The Canadian thought, 'He knows, Alfred knows, he's going to kill Gilbert and now he hates me and-' "MATT. GET THE FUCK _UP_." The statement was punctuated with a sharp tug to his bruised arm, which he whimpered at.

"Al, please don't…" "Gilbert _hit_ you. He actually grabbed you and forced you and hit you and god_damnit_, you lied about it." "H-He didn't!"

Alfred let out an unusually loud derisive laugh, more like a bark than anything. It sounded strange coming from his brother's throat. "Oh yeah? Then what are these?"

With a rough grab, the American's hands began to tear open Matthew's shirt. The teen would have shrieked, but a muscular hand flew up to cover his mouth; Alfred realizing with a snarl that his brother's lips were swollen. Matthew panicked, kicking wildly and letting out muffled screams, but was just pushed back.

Eventually and with much struggling involved, the garment was torn off, Alfred dropping it unceremoniously to the ground with a flutter. They were silent, each looking at the same thing. Matthew's bare arms and shoulders, littered with purple and blue handprint marks. Several marks that looked fresh had obviously been made from fingernails, dried blood gracing the crescents. The American shook in rage.

The Canadian tried fruitlessly to reassure him that it was alright, whispering shakily, "I bruise easy, I'm okay, it was a one time thing, I started it, he's a good guy…" The meaningless words spilled out in drivel from his lips, and Alfred paid no attention.

"Don't you ever even talk to him again, got it?" Matthew closed his mouth with a snap and nodded warily. Expecting a tirade, violet eyes squeezed shut, but no blows (verbal or physical) were made. He merely heard a strange choking noise, and then the hands left him. One eyelid lifted cautiously.

Alfred was crying softly, burying his face in his large hands. His brother had never looked so small in his life. Blonde hair spasmed every sob he took in, breathing growing erratic.

Matthew awkwardly reached as if to comfort him, stopping the reach only as he heard him say, "So m-much more could have h-h-happened…" The Canadian's face crumpled as he fell into Alfred's chest, breathing in a scent that was uniquely his. "That's what you're worried about?" An easy giggle, childish despite his wet eyes. He understood. "Silly frère."

They embraced, arms and bodies pressed so closely together that, for a moment, the crying brothers seemed to be one unit. One unbreakable force.

--

:D Actually finished Tuesday, had no interwebz –shoots laptop- And yeah, I has no flash drive. Not awesome.

Enjoyed angst? CAUSE EVEN THOUGH HE SAYS THERE'S NO MORE GIL, THERE IS BOATLOADS MOAR GIL ;D This story, honestly, isn't even half done. XD Oh mai.~


	6. Of Phone Sex and Curtains

A/N: Sorry about the lateness, prepping for an awesome Easter party~ Happy Holidays everyone! AND YEAH, I ALSO GOT DISTRACTED BY THE NEW JONES PARANORMAL UPDATE. _FFF DUN JUDGE ME_. The break from this for a few days made me insanely bad, this chapter seems clunky to me. And every time I tried to write holy shit, I ended up typing holy shirt. :P I don't even _know_.

Ohoho, plot development? I SMELL WIN -_**shootsself**_-

Also, me and 'Toni are such kindred spirits. We _both_ hate our phones (HAS DROPPED HER PHONE MANY TIMES orz).

_If you enjoy old cell phones, dramatically falling curtain rods, and/or sexually confused teenagers, then this chapter is for you._

--

Antonio sighed heavily, one tan hand running itself through his short dark hair. Where was Matt? He considered the options as he scanned his text messages absentmindedly, thumb scrolling through the long list. Click, click, click. The spaniard's eye twitched at the annoying sound, which somehow seemed louder than the laughing crowd gathered around, eating their lunches contentedly.

However, the boy quickly snapped out of his moment of irritation and jumped when his phone buzzed loudly. An alert popped onto the screen.

_You have_: **1** _New Message._

_From: Matt_

He gave a double click, anxiously biting his lower lip as the ancient phone flashed '_Loading_.' "Come on, damn it." A few people looked his way in confusion, a rather short blonde boy wearing of all things, a _pleated skirt_, said, "Like, you texting your boyfriend?" A light eyebrow was raised suggestively as several nearby teens snickered loudly.

Antonio laughed freely as his stomach knotted up at the question. Attempting to brush off the comment, he replied loudly, "You know it, Feliks. Jealous much?" Everyone chortled at that, turning back to their friends as they lost interest in the conversation.

The hunk of junk had finally opened the text, which read only, "Sick today. sorry Toni. :C Guess I'll see u tomorrow??" Antonio sighed a little as he hit the Reply button, fingers beginning to type away a forgiving response. His mind, curiously enough, was still stuck on the words Feliks had said not thirty seconds ago, and the teen's stomach gave another uncomfortable flip.

"_Like, you texting your boyfriend?_"

He wished. _Oh_, how Antonio wished.

--

Birds chirped cheerily, stretching their wings and taking flight under a warm noontime sun. The trees rustled with a kind of quiet peace. And inside the Jones-Williams house, the sweet scent of fresh chocolate chip cookies wafted up the stairs, the fragrant sugary smell filling every room.

It was, therefore, a pity that Matthew Williams couldn't enjoy any aspect of it.

The Canadian stumbled almost drunkenly to his feet, holding his tender stomach with one hand and covering his mouth cautiously with the other. Standing shakily upright, he took several deep breaths to steady his stomach, shuffling over to the large window. The sunlight steaming in had proved too much for the teen's oncoming migraine.

Matthew extended a shaky, sweaty hand and grasped the curtains tightly, making as if to draw them over the window. No such luck.

The blonde was overcome by a sudden wave of nausea, and he gave a small cry of pain, falling forward and bringing both the curtain and its rod down with him. Matthew fell onto the ground face-first, the heavy metal rod crashing down just inches from his face and the blue fabric fluttering down to obscure his vision. There was no time to worry about that, the violet-eyed teen thought, grabbing the wastebasket and promptly retching until the action turned into nothing more than dry heaves.

'Hangovers suck,' reflected the boy, panting and rolling onto his back.

Footsteps were heard hastily ascending the steps, another set rushing from the end of the hallway, and then the blonde blacked out completely, head lolling to the side as black spots overcame him for a moment.

Alfred knocked on the door (really pounding more than tapping) and called nervously, "Matt? Are you okay?" Their mother wrung her hands as she put a hand atop her older son's shoulder and whispered, "Honey, I think we should let him be. He sounds awful."

"But that sound! Something happened… Hey, Matt! Open the door!" When there was no reply, the American clenched his teeth, gripping the doorknob and jiggling it. The door was locked, to his despair. "M-Matthew…" the woman said, breathing getting panicked.

Alfred looked at his mother with a serious expression and removed her trembling hand, taking the small appendage in between his own reassuringly. "It'll be okay, Mom. Go downstairs, I can handle this." "Son, I-" "Go!" She gave him a final look and departed, still quivering in anxiety. The blonde took several steps back and inhaled deeply. With a grunt, he launched himself forward, shoulder colliding with the hard wood painfully.

The door flew open with a loud bang, hitting the Canadian's desk. Pens and papers rained to the ground as it tipped over with a mighty thud. Alfred scanned the room with frantic eyes, giving a sharp gasp when he saw his smaller brother lying on the floor limply, eyes closed.

Alfred sprinted to him, quickly getting on one knee to assess the damage. A large metal rod was next to his head, and for a terrifying second the boy thought that Matthew had been hit by it. But upon closer inspection, there was no injury. The teen had most likely just passed out from exhaustion, the American concluded, letting out a sigh of relief.

He wrapped his arms around his brother, resting his head in the crook of his neck and whispering, "Thank God…"

Sadly, Alfred's moment of peace was shattered when Matthew complained rather loudly (right into his ear, no less), "Broth_errrr_. Your glasses are digging into my shoulder and it _huuuurts_."

The other yelled, "_Holy shit_! _Damn_ it, Matt. You little turd." Matthew laughed as the blonde scrambled to his feet, panting, blue eyes the size of dinner plates. "S-Sorry, just fainted a little. I'm fine, no worries." "Matt, you blacked out. That's not fine."

Violet eyes averted themselves from piercing blue ones as his stomach gurgled again. Alfred stated with finality, "You're staying in bed, got it?" "B-But I-" "Got it?" Matthew gave a look to his brother, lower lip sticking out poutily and eyebrows furrowed together. The taller of the two just laughed and said, "Now _there's_ the Matt I know." "Hey!"

Nevertheless, the sick blonde was finally coerced into climbing back into bed, and immediately fell asleep, light snores muffled by the covers pulled up nearly to his forehead. Alfred gave him an affectionate look, one hand lightly placed on his forehead, before pulling out his phone and dialing his favorite Briton for a very… _interesting_ phone call.

He decided it was best to go into the other room.

--

Gilbert was sulking, slumped in a chair at home as his mother read him the riot act. "And you dare to get into a _FIGHT_? After everything you've done this year? This is _not_ the way to start your junior year, mister, and…" The silverette sighed and buried his head in his hands, exhausted and, might he add, rather beat-up. His stomach was definitely bruising already, he realized with a groan.

After his mother had finished berating him, she gave him a stinging slap to the cheek and said, "Now you will go to your room, Gilbert, and think about what you did to that poor child." "But mom, he was the one who-" "DON'T. EVEN."

Red eyes were downcast as he walked down the hall to his room, walking in and slamming the door so hard that nearby pictures fell off of the wall.

--

Alfred gave a breathy sigh. "And then you put on the handcuffs, and I-" "_JUST GET __ON__ WITH IT, YOU SODDING PRAT_." "Tsk tsk tsk. _SO_ impatient, Artie."

--

… AAAAND Happy Easter, ladies and gentlemen. XD No school this week, so I'm going to have more frequent updates. Look forward to it!!!~

In your reviews, please tell me if you wants moar Fwancis. Everybody loves France-nii-sama, yes? Da?~ ^J^ OMG IVAN FACE.

P.S. USUK phone sex FTW.


	7. A Lover, A Liar, And a Dinner Invite

A/N: Thought of this idea, ironically, at a Mexican restaurant. Before the food came, I was daydreaming, kinda twirling my straw (oh, you know you do this too…) and I just got struck by the inspiration~ I said, "Ah!" and grabbed a pen from my pocket, and just scribbled it down onto a napkin. My family was all… _?

But yeah, my English teacher said I have an author's soul. No wonder XD Future career idea, perhaps? (Hey, don't laugh. JK Rowling started on napkins…)

Oh, and, random Latvia cameo in the first paragraph. 'Cause I roll like that.

--

Aaand… Mr. Edelstein still wouldn't shut up. The mountain of lecture notes hadn't even been started on and yet the introduction itself seemed to take nearly all the class period. However, as the dangerously bored German with his head rather comfortably perched backwards on some random quivering blonde's shoulder turned lazily to see the clock, the hands indicated that only two minutes had passed. Fuuuuck.

He sighed, and his headrest squeaked a bit, whispering tremulously, "U-Um… Who are you?" "Unh. Shut up, kid." The boy trembled but obliged, whispering something that sounded oddly like, "I just want siblings…" A quick shake of the head, silver hair swinging lightly, dismissed the notion.

Hmm, now, how to pass the time?

Gilbert frowned and considered the question with a perplexed look, glancing around. His eyes flickered to the Canadian diligently taking notes in front of him, and he gave a sly grin, propping his body upright and beginning to write another note. The strange kid behind him breathed an audible sigh of relief.

His pen moved quickly as he scribbled on the notebook, taking only a few words to ask the question he had devised. The silverette bit his lip as he read it over, deemed it acceptable, and poked the soft blonde head in front of him.

Matthew gave such a jolt that several people turned to stare, and Gilbert was surprised that the priss of a teacher hadn't noticed. No, the monotone that was quickly becoming a familiar lullaby droned onwards.

Inclining his head just slightly to the persistent German, the blonde whispered, "What, Gilbert?" Said teen winced as he saw that the bruise he himself had created was blooming rather vividly over the delicate jawline. Ignoring the guilt coiling in the pit of his stomach, he just handed Matthew the paper and said lowly, "Read it." He was given a faint smile and a sarcastic eyebrow raise. "Really? I was gonna eat the note if you hadn't told me." "Oh, shut it, liebling."

As the folded message was passed, two hands brushed softly, and Gilbert couldn't help but blush, the color dusting itself across snowy skin as the object of his affections turned back and opened the paper. Violet eyes scanned its contents as a slow smile worked its way onto the Canadian's face. "R-Really, Gil?" he inquired softly, spinning back around. "Awesome, right?" "Very. Would seven work?"

It looked as if Gilbert would have a very pleasant dinner, indeed.

--

As Alfred chewed furiously, massive wad of gum somehow not impairing his steering ability, the American screamed, "OH, MOTHERFUCKER! _DAMN YOU TO __HELL_, PRINCESS PEACH!!! _DAMN_ IT, LUIGI, STAY ON THE FUCKING TRACK! SPEED BOOST, SP-_NOOOOOO_!! SCREW _THIS_!"

A WiiMote now lay sad and broken upon Matthew's floor.

The Canadian whirled around, too anxious to be _that_ pissed, and said, "For the love of maple, Al! If you're going to use my Wii, please don't break it." "B-But my Kart was-" "Alfred Jones. Silence."

The tall blonde pouted, lip jutting out, and said, "Fiiine." "Now, how does _this_ look?" The American sighed. "Matt, why do you care so much? It looks fine. Great." "Al, you said that about the last five shirts." "Can I help it that you look sexy in everything, bro?" Matthew rolled his eyes and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it at Alfred's head. He didn't miss.

"So, there's gotta be a reason, right?" asked the jock, bending down on one knee and picking up the sad white fragments of one previous WiiMote. "I mean, why you're primping." "I am _not_! God, you make me sound like a girl!"

"C'mon, dinner date or something?" Matthew hesitated, flushing red, and nodded almost imperceptibly. "Cool. Glad you're getting over, you know…"

Alfred was suddenly uncomfortable; he crossed his arms and sniffed. His little brother, completely lost, said, "Uh, clarification, please?" "You know, Gilbert. That fucking bastard." The Canadian jumped a bit, realizing how cautious he had to be, and replied swiftly, "U-Uh, yeah. Actually, I'm going with Antonio…" "Aw, that's cuuute." "Want to be hit again?" Alfred laughed.

"So, the green one's best, huh?" A facepalm, courtesy of one American. "_UUUGH_!"

--

Antonio sighed as he was given yet another command by his father, whose voice barely carried from the bustling kitchen. "Antonio! You will wash the dishes, yeah?" "But papa…" "_Oi_! No buts, you're washing the dishes. _Comprende_?" The brunette's shoulders slumped as he shuffled to the sink, towers of dishes alarmingly unsteady. "Si, papa."

As his hands plunged deep into soapy water, the teen cringed at the heat. He hadn't noticed that the water was steaming and nearly bubbling, and he cried out softly in pain. He pulled out quickly, biting his lip as his eyes watered. His hands were bright red and a few fingertips bled.

"D-Damn…" he mumbled, hastily grabbing a towel and soaking up all the red liquid. The light yellow fabric was slowly dyed a sickening orange, and Antonio swore under his breath as he threw the cloth away, berated by his father for wasting it. Whatever, he thought.

As he set back to his menial task, cringing all the way, he heard the bells signaling a new customer ring from the doorway, and happily grabbed a stack of menus in favor of greeting them instead. It was still work, right?

Thanking the first customers of the night within his head, he looked up and gave a smile, "Hello, and welcome t-…" Antonio trailed off, his grin disappearing. The two who had entered were none other than Matthew and Gilbert, the former, to his fury, sporting a large purple bruise across his cheek. An awkward silence passed between both parties as the Canadian nervously drew closer to his escort, who wrapped an arm protectively around his waist.

Not being able to bear the quiet any longer, the Spaniard spat, "Get your filthy hands off of him." "Shut the fuck up." Matthew inhaled sharply at the German's harsh words. Antonio recoiled as if he'd been hit.

"Matt, querida, I thought I told you to stay away f-" Gilbert's hand met a coffee-colored neck and squeezed. The blonde next to him shrieked loudly, screaming, "Stop it! Stop!" Antonio gasped weakly, vision spinning as he frantically clawed at pale wrists.

And then, it was over. The Spaniard sank to his knees and panted as his opponent backed away, a sober look on his face. Antonio finally regained his wind, coughing out, "What is wrong with you?" Gilbert looked at him, eyes filled with sorrow. "Matt." said the German abruptly. The Canadian jumped, responding, "Yeah?"

Gilbert walked closer to him, not saying a word. "G-Gil, what are y-" The silverette leaned down and caught the blonde's lips in a gentle, passionate kiss, one hand on the back of the shorter boy's head pushing up softly. Antonio just stared, dropping the menus. Papers scattered on the floor, unnoticed by the two liplocking.

Matthew moaned involuntarily, tilting his head back. He seemed to regain his senses after that, however, and broke the hold, gasping and turning to face his friend. "Oh God, 'Toni, I didn't mean t-to…"

Antonio's eyes blazed with a barely veiled fury, and he walked up to Matthew, doing something completely unexpected. He shoved him, hard, so hard that the Canadian stumbled into a table and fell with a great crash. Gilbert snarled, but the teen was already gone, much to his father's dismay.

With a shove of the door, Antonio sprinted out of the restaurant, eyes watering as he yelled and tore off his apron. He ran across the street as several cars screeched to a stop and honked. The boy was half-hysterical, gasping for breath even as he tore across front lawns and sidewalks, not knowing where he was going and not particularly caring. He only realized he was crying as his dark hair, whipping about crazily, stuck to his wet cheeks.

Only then did he stop.

--

Matthew cringed in pain as Gilbert tenderly pulled shards of glass out of his shoulder, menus still scattered about the floor. Workers hastened to clean up as the huffing German mumbled, "That bastard…" The blonde turned away, choosing not to comment.

After the deed was done, the silverette stood, feeling strangely accomplished, only to kneel down again and give Matthew a quick peck on the forehead. "Better, birdie? Are you awesome once more?" This prompted, at last, a little chuckle from the Canadian, who whispered, "Much," and hugged the other teen around the waist.

"See, Matt, I'd never do that to you." Matthew held his tongue as he wanted to scream that he already had. He just settled for another kiss.

--

Oh dearie. D: Violent!Gil is violent…

So, some Toni + Allie time next chapter (Most likely. Haven't written it yet orz), look forward to it!

Gawd, I luff Antonio, so this chapter was hard, but necessary to write. So, in exchange for mah pain, review plz? :3 Pwetty plz? –puts on pouty Al face-

|:o OH GILLY. PLZ CHANGE.


	8. As it seems

A/N: Just as a shoutout to Roxas4ever (who has reviewed every chapter ^u^)… **EXCUSE ME I THINK I LOVE YOU**. And all my reviewers, much luff and Matthew-cookies to you all. I feel a bit depressed though, as I seem to be making people sad. But, 'tis needed for the plot. Gomenasai. T_T

And also, funny story… My grandma is currently visiting us, and I went out for like _THREE SECONDS_ to get the morning paper, and she's on my laptop, reading the story I left open (it was mine, I was checking the reviews.)! I screamed, "_OMFG __GRANDMAAAAA_!!" But all she said was: "… This is yaoi?" Terrified for my safety, I replied, "Y-Yup." "I think I like it." Me: -OMGGGGWHUT- -falls-

:I Uh huh. It was messed up.

WHAT THE DEUCE? A PLOT TWIST!!~ Also, this chapter may make you like Gil a bit more. (Maybe? Yes? :3)

--

Oh goddamnit, Princess Peach was still at it. "COME _ON_, BITCH! GET ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FUCKING TRACK!!!" Unfortunately for him, our hero was pushed in response, and fell in a ball of flames down to Earth. Stupid Rainbow Road.

Fully exhausted from countless hours of Karting to the extreme (as Yoshi, fuck yeah), the blonde plopped down onto the sofa, whipping out his phone as it buzzed loudly. As he glanced down at it, the screen flashed, "One new message from Kirkland, Arthur (my bitch haha :p)." He sniggered, though he had been the one to enter the name into his contacts. It just never got old.

Alfred, pressing '_View_,' scanned the text's contents quickly. It merely read, "Party at Yao's place. You in?" The American's face split into a wide grin as he quickly typed a response in the affirmative. Yao always did throw the best house parties. Though, that rather frightening Russian was always invited, too…

He shivered as he hit '_Send_' with one lanky finger. He would have to stay cautious, then.

Alfred jolted as he heard a loud knock on the door. He groaned, as neither of his parents were currently at home, he would have to answer. Getting to his feet and stumbling to his bedroom door, he hastened his footsteps only when the knocks grew more frantic. "Yeah yeah, I'm coming…" He mumbled, then snickered at the double entendre. Not very mature, but who ever said he was?

The American finally reached the living room, rushing to the door. He opened it about halfway, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Anto-" Before the blonde could even finish, the brunette collapsed into his chest.

Blue eyes widened as the jock scrambled to catch his brother's friend. "_Shit_, dude, you okay? Where's Matt?" At the sound of that name, Antonio sobbed, clutching Alfred's shoulders so hard that the other boy winced in pain. He said awkwardly, "H-Hey, it's okay, come on in…" Evidently, his attempts at comfort were not very successful.

Half-helping, half-dragging a hysterical Spanish teen to the couch was much harder than it appeared. And it didn't look easy in the first place.

As Antonio was set down gently, his escort coughed nervously and attempted to straighten out his shirt, now creased and tearstained. However, there was another kind of stain around his shoulders that made Alfred gasp. Blood clearly marked where the teen's hands had been, the red liquid slowly seeping through his shirt and sticking to his skin. There were bigger worries, though, and the American brushed off the uncomfortable feeling.

Looking at the distraught boy once more, Alfred said, "Let me see your hands, please." Antonio, shivering both from the cold and the hysteria, held his palms out. The blonde cringed as he saw the burn marks and cuts. He stood swiftly, saying, "I'm gonna go get some bandages. Stay here." The Spaniard sniffled and nodded, pulling his knees to his chest.

Sure enough, within minutes Alfred had returned, large white first aid kit in hand. Finally, Antonio spoke up, voice cracking slightly. "I-I didn't know wh-where else to go…" The American opened the box and looked at him sympathetically.

"Hey, man, it's okay. Any friend of Mattie's is a friend of mine." "Matthew, he…" Alfred glanced at him as he prepared the ointment and bandages. "Yeah," he said slowly, "I thought you two were seeing each other tonight."

Antonio shook his head, whispering, "I saw them together. Him and Gilbert." The blonde froze, nearly dropping the box. The brunette continued; "I was _so_ angry; I told him to stay away, but then he c-choked me, and…" Another rounds of sobs overwhelmed the teen, and he fell silent.

Meanwhile, Alfred was still, face expressionless as he clutched a roll of gauze so hard his knuckles paled. Eventually, he managed to speak, gritting his teeth as he said, "Matthew promised… He said they were over…" Antonio laughed, a miserable sort of laugh completely devoid of humor. "Well, _amigo_, he never said they were together to me."

The blonde gave him a look of pity, picking up the supplies once more and numbly starting to wrap his hands.

It was a menial task, and one that was done in complete silence, save for an occasional sniffle from the injured party. After nearly fifteen minutes, which had seemed more like fifteen hours, Alfred had finished, and he stood with a little sigh. Antonio gave a small smile of gratitude, whispering a small "Thanks…" He got a curt nod in return.

The American sat down softly next to him and gazed at the red finger marks encircling his neck, silently cursing Gilbert in his head. He leaned over and, without thought, pressed his lips to the bruising skin. Antonio jumped, but did not protest.

Alfred realized what he had done, and pulled back hastily, spluttering, "I-I'm so sorry, I d-don't know what I-" An easy laugh broke his mini-rant, and the other teen said, "It's okay. I didn't mind."

The blonde flushed, wondering if that meant what he thought it meant. He mentally chastised himself, thinking, '_What? That's ridiculous. Don't think about such things_.'

But that thought was quickly overruled by the feeling of a warm mouth pressing hesitantly against his. Antonio trembled a little when there was no response, an unsteady hand coming in to rest on the muscular chest to his right. Alfred was shocked, cerulean eyes wide in disbelief.

And yet, the blonde couldn't help but kiss back.

--

Gilbert said, "Dessert before a meal, that's what I always say." Matthew just shook his head, smiling widely. The pair stood in front of, of all things, an ice cream parlor. The Canadian paid no heed to his bandaged hands as he quickly pushed open the door, running straight for the 'Maple Madness.' The German chuckled, following him to the glass display case.

Wrapping one arm around Matthew's shoulders and resting his chin on the back of his head, Gilbert considered the pros and cons of his spontaneous decision. Pro: It would (most likely) make him forget about Antonio. Con: A sugar-high birdie was, to him, uncharted territory.

The smaller boy said, "_Maple_, there's a lot of flavors…" The silverette nodded absently, scanning the rows as well. As an older man came over and asked them what they would like, Matthew, of course, decided on maple, while he himself went for the Coconut Pecan. The aproned employee smiled and got the cones, while the Canadian grabbed them a table. Gilbert picked up the orders after paying, one in each hand, and walked to their seats, handing Matthew his with a light kiss to the brow.

The smaller teen couldn't help but think that he much preferred this sweeter Gilbert to the one at the restaurant.

As they ate, they talked. The conversation started lightly enough, with inquiries about school, interests, and family, but it quickly morphed into an intense round of Would You Rather.

Matthew licked his lips (quite delectably, Gilbert thought) and pursed his lips, attempting to formulate an evil question for his opponent. The other teen, however, beat him to it, saying, "Would you rather catch your awesome boyfriend sleeping with Antonio or Alfred?" The Canadian groaned. "Um, maple, Alfred, I think…"

One silver eyebrow was raised in surprise as Gilbert gave a whoop. "_Woah_, birdie, _seriously_?" The sigh afterwards was all the confirmation that he needed. "That's a tough one. Me, I'd personally rather have you sleep with one of my friends than my brother."

Matthew gasped at this. "Gil, you have a brother?" "Yup," he replied, "An older one. His name's Ludwig." "Nice. You two get along?" "Pretty well, yeah," responded the German, taking another lazy lick of the frosted treat. The blonde yelped in surprise as one cold drop trickled down his hand.

Grabbing a paper napkin, the Canadian hastened to clean it up, but stopped halfway as Gilbert said, "Wait. I'll get that." Matthew put the napkin down, confused.

The silverette leaned across the table and, much to Matthew's horror, licked the drop's trail all the way from his finger to his wrist. When he was finished, the victimized Canadian's face was completely red, quite possibly due in part to him licking his lips so thoroughly afterwards. He said casually to the flustered teen, "That was good, but you tasted better." Matthew squeaked in embarrassment as a nearby couple chuckled.

And so, the two departed, Gilbert dragging the blushing Canadian in tow.

--

The dinner had been rather uneventful (though Gilbert had had _boatloads_ of fun whispering naughty things into his date's ear), and he had dropped Matthew off in his driveway, wishing him the best of luck when dealing with his sure-to-be-pissed brother. The Canadian had invited him to help invent an excuse, but he had merely said, "I value my genitals, thank you," and sped off.

About twenty minutes later, his car rolled nearly soundlessly into his family's driveway, and he got out with a yawn, stretching his limbs with a few pops. But he soon tensed again as he realized his mother's car wasn't there. His stepfather's was.

He groaned, one hand running through silver hair as he shakily inhaled. That's right, his mother had gone to a conference. And it would be the same as it always had been when him and his "father" were alone. Looking around for his brother's car, he felt even more despair as he realized that Ludwig was at his part time job.

Well, he knew he couldn't put it off any longer. Gilbert took a deep breath and approached the front door, opening it as silently as possible. About halfway through, though, a large creak sounded, and he heard, to his dismay, a drunken voice slurring, "Welcome home." He steeled his jaw and called calmly, "Hey, dad."

The man stumbled into the room, unshaven and smelling of alcohol, and gave a lopsided grin to his son. "Gilbert… How I missed ya." The silverette said nothing, keeping his eyes down and attempting to pass his stepfather without contact. The plan failed, the drunken man to his left extending a muscular hand and gripping one slim wrist. He gave several heavy, ragged breaths through his nose before saying quietly, "Dad. Please, I have to go to bed."

"Hmm? Then why not go with me?" "Stop it,_ please_." The German was practically begging now, voice frantic and eyes filling with tears he was too proud to shed. But in the depths of his heart, he knew the pleas wouldn't be heard. They never were.

And as rough, cold lips attacked his own, he knew that this time would be no different.

The next morning, Gilbert awoke alone, and found that he couldn't stand. Today was a sick day, indeed.

--

_**OH GOSH GILLY**_ T_T It's okay, we still luff you. And Matthew will glomp you, dun worry.

Pivotal chapter in many ways, ne? :3 Reviews keep me writing and you happy. (and filled with Mattie-induced joy!~)

|:D Next chapter will be boss. Count on it.


	9. Before It Falls Apart

A/N: An anon reviewer mentioned that this story was a lot like Dreamland by the wonderfully talented Sarah Dessen, and I was _so_ happy!!~ ('o') I love that book with a passion (and I luffles Rogerson, though I really shouldn't ;D), and it's awesome to see parallels being drawn between me and such a great author. I squealed at the number of reviews last chapter, BTW. I was all .O.!

So yes. Please enjoy the newest chapter, and keep reviewing, story alerting, and favoriting!

_****Just a note—This chapter picks up when Matthew arrives back home, in his POV. Cause we've got some 'splaining to do.****_

And yeah. Poor Allie doesn't go to that party after all. But someone else we all know and love does!~

--

"Something's getting in the way; something's just about to break."- The Diary of Jane, Breaking Benjamin.

--

As Matthew ascended the steps, he inhaled deeply, not wanting to face his brother. It was obvious that Antonio was nowhere nearby, and hadn't even taken him to dinner, as he always stopped to come in and say hello. So, the blonde was pretty much screwed.

One shaky hand met the cool metal of the doorknob, and for a brief moment the Canadian seriously considered going the easier route and sneaking through the back door. But with a determined shake of his head, Matthew dismissed it. That would be taking the easy way out, and he was no coward. Fingers grasped the circular knob, and he turned it, opening the door slowly. He decided not to call attention to his situation by yelling, "I'm home!" like he usually did. Besides, Alfred was probably at a party or something anyway.

He calmed himself with this fact, taking off his shoes and not trusting himself to breathe quite yet. Yes, yes, he might not even be home. He probably isn't. You can go upstairs, do your homework, and fall asleep like nothing ha-

The notion was quickly deleted as Matthew walked into the living room to find his brother half-naked, with his tongue situated rather comfortably in Antonio's mouth, who was currently pinned down on the floor.

Betraying his mind, the blonde screamed loudly, one hand flying up to cover his mouth as the two broke apart hastily and looked at him. Terror was on Alfred's face, and his friend just looked guilty and sheepish, one hand rubbing the back of his purpling neck. The Canadian teen was at a loss for words, and his jaw hung open. The ringing silence after his shriek was almost worse than the noise itself.

Minutes passed in the same way, a sort of agonizing tension filling the room. Antonio finally said caustically, an uncharacteristically dark expression passing over his face, "So, how was your evening with _Gilbert_?" Matthew glared, but his worried gaze fell upon Alfred's face. He naively prayed the jock hadn't heard him correctly. No such luck, it seemed, as cold blue eyes turned his way.

"I already knew," he responded, staring at Matthew as if he were something on the bottom of his shoe. Eyes harshly took in his appearance, narrowing as they came to his poorly bandaged hands. Before he could comment, the other teen followed his gaze, and said (more loudly than necessary), "That wasn't Gilbert. That was Antonio."

Alfred growled, getting to his feet. "Quit fucking lying to me; _damnit_, Matthew." He started for his brother with an intent that, frankly, scared the smaller boy. He cringed, back hitting the wall as he cautiously backed up. Yet, the football player still advanced upon him, grabbing a pale arm roughly. "A-Al, please, let go…"

Antonio, guilt welling up in the pit of his stomach, finally interjected. "Alfred, it really was me... _Lo siento_." Matthew breathed a sigh of relief, but apparently too soon. With a low snarl, Alfred tightened his hold, replying coolly, "I don't believe you."

The Canadian trembled slightly, considering what he could possibly do to relieve the tension in the situation. Without a shred of doubt, he leaned in and, doing the best he could with one working arm, gave Alfred a hug, resting his head against his brother's bare chest. But to his dismay, he was just roughly pushed aside, his arm released with a push. "Get away from me," was all the American said, ignoring the tears that were threatening to release from the smaller teen's eyes.

Matthew turned on his heels, running to the stairs and into his room in a manner of seconds, slamming the door with a loud bang. The two in the living room heard the telltale click of a lock turning, then all was still once more. Uncomfortably so.

Antonio said, "I should leave," gathering up his shirt and jacket. He passed Alfred stiffly, with a small nod that was nearly invisible inclined in his direction, and then he was gone too, closing the front door gently. Alfred grabbed the first aid kit, returning the remaining bandages and the pair of scissors into the large white box. The blonde desperately tried to busy himself in some other way after that, straightening vases and plumping throw pillows uselessly. He sighed, and decided he had to risk it at some point.

He ascended the stairs two at a time, as was customary for him given his long legs, and was in front of Matthew's door quickly. Blue eyes roamed the floor uncomfortably. Really, it was a lovely carpet that they had. The perfect shade of cream, not too li- …Okay, _focus_, Alfred.

The blonde raised one hand slowly, mentally preparing himself to knock. Or, rather, for his brother's reaction. He decided to pray for the best but get ready for the worst, visualizing a psychotic Matthew beating him senseless. He sniggered a bit at the improbability.

Then, Alfred heard something from the other side of the door. Curious, he listened in, pressing his ear to the cool oak and closing his eyes. Matthew's voice drifted out to him as the boy said, "He d-didn't believe me…" Alfred felt a pang of guilt as he realized that his brother was crying. He was about to reconcile when something stopped him. "I-It's okay… I forgive you. And about Gilbert, I had no idea he would… I'm sorry, 'Toni."

The American squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut as he was reminded of his brief fling, an irresponsible sort of escape. He decided to leave Matthew to his call and departed, entering his room noiselessly. Alfred didn't sleep that night.

--

Yao was not happy. As in, he was getting ready to kick some major French ass, and God help whoever tried to stop him.

The noisy Frenchman was completely drunk, which, though it was to be expected at a party, was making him a bit… overzealous. Or horny. For Francis Bonnefoy, they were synonymous.

The blonde leaned even more onto Yao's shoulder and said loudly into his ear, "You're very pretty." The bold statement was punctuated with a hand sliding down to his ass, squeezing the flesh firmly. That did it. The Chinese man whirled to his left, punched the offender soundly in the nose, and stalked off, ignoring the screams of pain coming from the couch he had just vacated.

The petite boy rubbed his temples as music thumped through the house and everyone cheered on some bizarre drunk cartwheeling contest happening on the dining room table. He decided he would retreat outside for a while, and did so, breathing a deep sigh of relief as the cool night air swirled around his body. Yao stepped onto a path leading out to the gardens, deliberating that his guests wouldn't miss him too much if he were to take a small walk.

He had just reached the apple trees when he heard a small whimper, rustling sound emitting from a set of bushes nearby. The Chinese teen furrowed his eyebrows in concern, calling out, "Who is that, aru?"

There was no response, only more of the pitiful sounds, and he went to investigate, slipping through a set of hedges to the other side. Brown eyes went wide as he ran to the girl on the ground. She sobbed into his shoulders, trying to retrieve the remains of her clothing as her body was racked by gasps. Yao hastened to help her, whispering soothing words into her ear.

He shed his jacket, wrapping it around her gently and snarling, "_Who did it_?" The trembling girl whispered a name tearfully, and Yao saw red.

--

Oh gosh. This chapter is really important, even in the later parts of the story, so make sure to remember it.

I think I like writing Yao-kun, though I probably made him a little OOC. -shrugs- Oh well. It's my first time writing for him, so I won't get it perfect just yet.

Though there aren't many people it could be (as Hetalia has mostly male characters), who do you think the girl from the last scene is? I'd love to hear your thoughts. And if you like Alfred, the next chapter will not be for you. :C Just a heads-up.


	10. But it wasn't me!

A/N: I hope you all read Ninety Seven, and are all supportive of Poland in their time of need. Just as a warning, I might start the Hundred Themes Challenge today (or in the near future), so if I do decide to, updates on this story will be a bit slower.

Oh, poor Alfred…. *hugs* ILUBBY.

--

Matthew sighed and gave a large yawn into the phone. "Sleepy." Antonio laughed, saying, "Want me to stay on the line until you fall asleep, Matt?" "Mhmm, if it's not… -yawn- a burden…"

The brunette assured him, "Not at all," smiling widely.

The Canadian glanced at the clock, which glowed the current time of 1:15 a.m. "Maple, we sure can talk." Antonio chuckled and shook his head, though the blonde couldn't see it. "W-What, 'Toni?"

"It's cute when you say 'maple.' I find it endearing, really." The blonde teen blushed, snuggling his body even closer to Kumajiro, who squirmed in discomfort. Through thick white fur, Matthew mumbled a quick, "Thank you."

There was a calm, comfortable pause, during which the Canadian mentally mulled over the day's events. He decided to be bold, and spoke up, heart racing. He spluttered out, "U-Um, why did you kiss Al?" Oh, crap.

Without a second of hesitation or awkwardness, the Spaniard replied, "He looks like you." Matthew thought he was in cardiac arrest. After an awkward silence, he tremulously whispered, "R-Really?" "Matt, I'm an idiot. I know that you're with someone else, but I don't think he's a good guy. Matt, I could make you so much happier."

The Canadian, to Antonio's shock, icily replied, "Fuck you." "E-Excuse me?" "I'm very happy," he harshly informed the other teen, "With Gilbert. Not you."

The Spaniard took a few shaking breaths, and for a moment Matthew felt somewhat afraid that his friend was crying. Then, the feeling was lost as Antonio responded, "If you're happy with someone who hits you, then fine. I really hope he kills you. It would be better for us all."

With a click, the call ended. Matthew stared blankly at the phone for so long that a cool female voice began to say, "If you would like to make a call, please hang up and tr-" He burst into tears. Kumajiro whimpered and nuzzled his chest as he buried his face in his trembling hands.

--

Alfred was fairly sure he was going insane.

He couldn't sleep, he had threatened his brother, and now said Canadian was sobbing so loudly that, even through thick walls, the blonde could swear his brother was right next to him. The American growled, pummeling his pillow for a few seconds before realizing how he: A) wasn't relieved of his frustration, and B) looked like a moron.

Slipping out of his bed, Alfred's feet hit the ground with a light thud. The boy straightened, trying to be as quiet as possible. He didn't care if Matthew heard him, just if his parents did. He grabbed a light jacket, as he hadn't bothered even changing into pajamas, ruffled his hair, and swung his lower body over the edge of his window, grunting from exertion before his Converse-clad feet met a familiar foothold.

The blonde scaled the wall skillfully and silently, until, with a small thud, he dropped to the lawn. Alfred cracked a large grin at his prowess, before heading to his car, keys jingling in his pocket. It wasn't too late to enjoy that party.

--

Though the host was missing (to where Yao had gone, no one knew), the American enjoyed himself, grabbing a large beer and a few college girls before doing his signature hair-flip and heading to the dancefloor. A few sophomores squealed in delight, whispering to their friends, "_Oh my God_, he's so hot."

As a new hip-hop song came on, he laughed confidently, preparing to amaze the world (or, well, at least the current partygoers in the living room) with his dancing skills. Motioning for everyone to back up, everyone watched him intently, eyes wide and drinks half-gone. He took a deep breath, rolled up his sleeves, and…

Was suddenly on the ground, with a screaming Yao backfisting him across the face. A few girls screamed, and the stronger of the guys ran to his aid, trying to remove the livid Chinese teen from his rather uncomfortable position, kneeling on Alfred's torso.

As one boy roughly grabbed the long dark hair and yanked, Yao cried out in pain. Alfred slapped the jock's hand away, yelling, "Don't touch him like that!"

By now a crowd had gathered, and all watched excitedly from the sides of the room, which, for the American, was spinning nauseatingly. Still, he managed a coherent, "It's okay. Don't hurt him, I got this."

Unsure, his followers backed away, soon wishing they hadn't. The room quieted, save for the two teens' panting. Yao shook in anger, and Alfred, for the first time in his life, felt scared that his friend would actually hurt him. The petite boy looked up at him, tears sparkling in his eyes, and snarled, "Outside. I'm going to have a chat with you."

Everybody in the room quietly murmured, the sound giving the room a slightly uneasy atmosphere. As they buzzed, Alfred's head spun, and he could hope it would only be a "_chat_" as he was lead out of the room and onto the porch.

Nobody dared follow the pair, and as Yao reached the garden's edge, he was still shaking. Alfred, concerned, put a hand on his shoulder, jumping as Yao hissed, "Don't. Touch. Me." He withdrew his hand as if he'd been burned. The smaller teen gave a trembling sigh, and asked him a question he was truly perplexed to receive.

"Why did you do it?" Blue eyes blinked a few times as Alfred tried to decipher the inquiry. Giving up on trying to understand, the jock replied, "I… don't know what you're saying…?" Yao turned savagely and slapped him across the face, opening his mouth as if to scold the blonde. He never got the chance.

As if by instinct, Alfred gave a wild left hook, fist connecting with the Chinese boy's temple. He dropped to the ground, gasping in pain. The blonde gasped as well. "Y-Yao, I'm so sorry! I wasn't thinking straight, I-" "So _now_ you admit it?" "W-What? No, I still d-"

He cut himself off as he heard sirens coming nearer, seemingly coming to a stop in front of the spacious house. "Who're they here for?" Alfred inquired, turning back to the direction of the lawn.

Yao was silent, still half-kneeling on the soil. "Yao? I said, who are they here for?" No response, again. An ominous feeling came over the blonde, and he ran. The brunette just stared in his direction, bringing up a hand slowly to his head. He withdrew it, and red glistened.

Alfred was sprinting, dread filling his chest, though, admittedly, he didn't know why. Someone called out to him, a dizzying blow was given to the back of his head, and the next thing he knew, cold metal connected his wrists with a click.

--

Oh gosh. Allie, you poor baby…

It really kills me, because it wasn't him! T_T And, yeah, we still don't get to know who the girl is. Sad sad.

So keep guessing at it!~

And Mattie actually gets luffed next time. I know I've been cruel, so my little way of apologizing. Look forward to it…

Also, IMPORTANT! Fiftieth reviewer gets a oneshot with the pairing of their choice. :D Good luck~


	11. Comfort is a Best Friend

A/N: Sorry about the wait. Compared to some, though, I'm a speedy updater, so reviews help me keep it that way. Plus, I'm still going at Chapter 1 of the 100 Themes Challenge, editing Ninety Seven, and writing up giftfic oneshots for Marina Nyah (Ask Alfred is epic _WIN_) and Durarara-Love.

If youz want fluff, I gots some right here for you!~

Also, I am shamefully addicted to Blame It On The Pop. The best mashup this world's ever seen.

****EDIT: I realize that many people are going to be under the assumption that Gilly here woke up at, like, seven and realized that he couldn't walk, but actually, he woke up like that when his phone rang when Mattie called, and somehow, he found the will to move himself. I'll make that clearer and rewrite the end soon!!****

--

Three a.m. had never felt worse. Matthew reflected on this fact as he shook violently, rather irking Kumajiro, who leapt off the bed with a small huff, as if he was irritated. The white bear most likely was, as his master had been in this vein of depression and sadness for over an hour. The animal turned up its nose once more, padding to a bean bag chair and curling up there instead.

The Canadian, though devastated, was nevertheless emotionally and physically drained after the awful day he'd had. So he let his muscles, tense and sore as they were, relax. The blonde felt himself beginning to drift off; the room which had previously housed racking sobs quieting to a strange ringing peace. A heaviness fell over him, and his eyes fluttered shut, lavender orbs rolling back.

It was, of course, at that moment that the doorbell rang. Matthew felt like screaming as he bit his pillow and thought, '_Who the hell visits at this time_?' Then, a sinking feeling settled firmly in his gut as he realized that it must be an emergency. No one would do this otherwise.

He rolled slowly out of the bed, Kumajiro bolting up and jumping onto the sheets, nuzzling his black snout into the warm fabric. The Canadian sighed and blindly shuffled to the door, banging his ankle against something or other in his haste. He heard his mother answer the visitor as he himself was just reaching the stairwell. But what the visitor said next made his blood run cold, and the blonde nearly collapsed right there in the hall.

It was a man's voice, gruff and slightly apologetic. "A-Are you the mother of Alfred Jones?" His mom gave a shaky gasp, only nodding after she had covered her mouth with a trembling hand. Red, white, and blue lights flashed outside, and the Canadian had thought they never looked so _fucking_ unpatriotic as they did right then. Matthew reached her, having taken the steps two, even three at a time, and said tremulously, "M-Mom?" She gave no indication that she had even heard her son.

The police officer looked at Matthew, and the teen gazed tearfully back, lip quivering. The blonde thought he must look pathetic, but honestly couldn't bring himself to care. As if in denial, the boy stuttered weakly, "N-No, _frère_ is upstairs. He's fine. Mom? _Mom_! Answer me!" A silence hung heavy over them, much less calming than the one before.

"Your son is currently at our jail, waiting for his trial. If you would like, you may come bail him out… But in a month, he'll have to appear before the court, ma'am." His mother looked as if she were about to faint, swaying dangerously as her delicate shoulder rested against the doorjamb. The police officer gazed at her with pity and sympathy, and Matthew felt bile rising in his throat. Shakily, he forced out, "W-What has he d-d-done?"

"Son, he's being held under charges of rape." He vaguely heard his mother screaming hysterically as the uniformed man averted his eyes politely, but it was as if the noise came from the end of a tunnel, and his already-blurred vision swam dizzyingly. The colored lights became liquids as they danced in his eyes, and he felt nauseous. The blonde fell backwards, unconsciousness overtaking him.

--

He awoke in minutes, his teary mother leaning over him. Matthew couldn't so much see her as hear her wrenching gasps, feel wet spots hit his forehead. The police man was gone, he realized, and his fist clenched around the soft rug. He got up without a word, his mother watching him intently, and walked up the stairs, an odd ripping feeling in his chest.

Without any thought being involved, he walked blank-faced into his room, Kumajiro pawing his still-throbbing ankle nervously. The Canadian picked up his phone, the harsh light of the screen making his tender eyes sting.

He dialed, and waited desperately for an answer. He got one by the third ring.

Gilbert spoke blearily, saying, "Birdie, it's not even four in the morning, and I really j-" A rough scream erupted from the blonde's weathered throat as he shrieked, violent sobs hitting him hard and fast. The ripping sensation intensified as he doubled over, crying so hard he literally couldn't see the screen's glow anymore. Matthew couldn't see anything.

The silverette spoke urgently, worried voice rising to a near-yell as he exclaimed, "Matt? _MATT_! Talk to me, babe, what is it? Matthew, are you hurt? _Hey_!" Finally, the cries subsided, and he whispered, "P-Please help me." With a soft grunt of pain, and a creak of bedsprings, all Gilbert inquired was, "Where are you?"

The blonde's heart swelled as he took a deep breath, scrubbing at his face furiously and replied, "M-My house… Gil?" "Mmm?" "Thanks." He could hear the smile over the phone.

--

Gilbert limped hurriedly to the closet, finding his uncle already gone, and grabbed a sweatshirt and a decent pair of jeans, not even bothering with a T-shirt. The screams echoed through his head, spurring the teen on to go faster. And that he did, biting his lip as he prayed that he could at least sit down in his car.

Grabbing his awesome Gilbird-shaped keychain, the boy exited the house, slamming the front door as he went. Wait. No.

He turned back and snagged a pint of Cherry Garcia and two spoons. They would probably be necessary.

It took several tries for him to sit successfully without crying out in the driver's seat, and the only reason Gilbert kept up the attempts was the memory of Matthew's voice, tearful and distraught, hysterical and horrified. That was a sound he wouldn't forget for a while.

Eventually managing the painful task, the red-eyed teen closed the door with a thud, buckling his seatbelt and hurriedly igniting the engine, reveling in the reassuring hum when it roared to life. He sped off so fast that the tires smoked, and small black marks were left to mar the asphalt.

--

The Canadian drummed his fingers lightly on the windowsill as cool air seeped in, trying to stem his tears. Desperate for something to do, he hummed lightly. The notes sounded broken, soft, and unfamiliar. Wrong, almost.

He was brought back to earth when he heard a vehicle pull into his driveway and honk twice in quick succession. Relieved beyond words for no apparent reason, he ran out of his room, taking the stairs even faster than he had before. His mother had gone to pay bail, he had heard her van pulling away, and so his footsteps echoed emptily around the house. The tears came harder now, faster, and Matthew didn't bother putting on a jacket as he bolted out of the front door.

The wooden frame nearly cracked as he slammed it shut, but the blonde paid it no heed, fresh sobs tearing his throat as warm water dripped slowly down his cheeks, passing from shining violet eyes to an equally violet bruise.

Gilbert opened the door, hastily making as if to stand. He never got the chance, as Matthew ran into his arms and held him so tightly he fell backwards. Sprawled out against two seats, the silverette fiercely hugged the shaking frame, and he placed light kisses on the neck in front of him.

In a tone of concern, he asked, "Birdie, are you okay?" As soon as the words departed his tongue, he realized how stupid that was to ask. Matthew didn't take notice, crying all the harder into his shoulder. Though it had been mere seconds, Gilbert already felt the tears soaking through both layers of clothing, and he shushed the other teen comfortingly.

Feeling braver as the cries quieted, the red-eyed boy gently picked up the Canadian and set him down across the backseat, having just enough room to sit and cradle his head in his lap. The silverette closed the door with a small click, and they were both still. Gilbert didn't even dare to breathe as he looked intensely down at the younger man, watery purple eyes locking with shining crimson. Matthew's serene expression crumpled as he broke down again, face turning into Gilbert's stomach as he curled up.

Gilbert leaned in until his chest was flush with the other's, and he held on tightly, whispering something unexpected into the boy's ear. "I _love_ you." And just like that, Matthew stopped crying.

There was a profound quiet, before the silverette slowly produced, as if out of thin air, a carton of ice cream and two spoons. Surprisingly, the Canadian giggled at his dramatics, grabbing the utensil and relishing the thrill when their fingers brushed. The tears seemed long gone as they ate and talked.

The conversation was trivial, and both suffering teens felt grateful for the mindlessness. They didn't have to focus on their problems, or on someone else's, all they did was just listen. During a particularly long pause, Gilbert licked his spoon and said abruptly, "Do you want to talk about it?" His tone was sober.

Matthew considered it, eyes gleaming in the yellow glow of the streetlamps. Finally, he decided, "No. Just… distract me. Please."

Gilbert obliged, telling him the story of how Francis had somehow talked him, Elizaveta, and a hobo into playing strip poker in a hotel lobby. The blonde was in hysterics by the end, tears pricking at his eyes for a different reason. Somewhere along the line, the silverette's jacket had been converted into a makeshift blanket, though neither party minded it.

The ice cream was soon gone, and so was the night. Just as the sun rose into the sky and birds sang joyfully, Matthew fell with a heavy thud onto Gilbert's bare chest. For the briefest of moments, both of them were perfect.

--

O_o I had a really bad asthma attack while writing the part where Matthew's sobbing and gasping. …_MY WRITING AFFECTS ME, I TELL YOU._

Ohoho, you guys have no idea how close I was to not finishing tonight. (The chapter, pervs. ;D) I seriously have three minutes to post this. LET'S DO IT, GAIZ. Oh yeah, and Fallende knows who the girl is, and I thought I was gonna reveal it this chapter. Whoo boy, looks like you know WAY ahead of time. XD Sorry, readers!!~

Review or Gilbert gets scone'd by Arthur. I mean it.


	12. It Hits Closer to Home

A/N: At three thousand hits, it continues!!~ I just want to thank you all so much for your amazing support (AND OH MY GOD. Just checked the charts and 2k of you are Canadian. FFF I LOVE YER COUNTRY. :D)

It's the weekend, so expect the gift-oneshots and Chapter 1 of my new fic to be up by Sunday! God, I'm blowing off my studies. XD Ironically, most of it is English Lit.

**If you're wondering what the ankle bracelet is and why Alfred wears one, it's a precautionary alarm that keeps him in the house/room/any set region, in this case being the whole home. In layman's terms, he's under house arrest until the day of the trial.

--

"A beast does not know that he is such, and the nearer he comes to being a beast, the less he is aware." –George MacDonald.

--

Gilbert admired just how still the Canadian in his lap was when he was asleep. Soft breaths, barely audible, filled the car as the blonde slept on peacefully. Shiny waves of yellow tumbled over his knee, and he smoothed the hair absently, staring at the beautiful sunrise; the pink, blue, and red colors were lighting the frost on the windshield stunningly.

The silverette then realized that, sadly, despite how much he was enjoying his time with the smaller teen, his family would be expecting Matthew inside the house when they came to wake him. So with more caution than he would normally use, Gilbert leaned down and lifted the boy's limp form, gently cradling him in his arms. One pale hand reached over to unlock the car door, and he managed to get out and do so without rousing the blonde.

As the German shut the door softly, he began to walk, taking pains to do so smoothly and silently, proving to be more than challenging as the walkway to the house was gravel. It crunched underfoot as Gilbert mentally swore, glancing worriedly at the slumbering Canadian every few paces.

The pair reached the front door, and the silverette prayed it was unlocked, smiling when he found it was. He twisted the handle pushed forward hesitantly, making sure nothing creaked so as to not wake the other teen. As he made it inside with no incident, he realized with a groan that he was wearing no shirt, and his jacket was still wrapped protectively around the boy in his arms. If anyone in the house was awake at… he checked the clock on the coffee table… 6:53, he was so screwed. The whole scenario looked a bit… wrong. Plus, they had just vacated the backseat of his car.

Peeking around a corner, red eyes just visible around a doorframe, he found that nobody was currently in the dining room or kitchen, and so moved on, heading up the stairs in the general direction, he expected, of the bedrooms. One step lightly squeaked halfway up, and the teen froze, holding his breath as he heard footsteps heading his way. Oh shit.

His palms broke out in a cold sweat as he bit his lip. Stomach churning, he said frantic prayers to every deity he knew under his breath, which proved to be no avail. Alfred rounded the corner and stared at him, a beeping bracelet-like thing attached firmly to his left ankle. Blue eyes stared down red ones, and for a terrifying second, Gilbert actually thought he would faint.

With a restrained anger, but a strange calm about him, the American slowly descended the stairs in the two's direction. Without a word, a gaze, or even an indication that the other was there, Alfred took Matthew lightly in his own arms and went back up, entering a room and quietly closing the door. It was locked immediately after with a small click, and Gilbert, feeling awfully out of place, awkwardly left the house.

--

That afternoon, Matthew tossed and turned uncomfortably in his slumber, uneasily whimpering and thrashing his arms and legs. Alfred had been watching him nonstop since he had been set on the bed, almost as if he was entranced, but at this sudden state of distress he averted his eyes, not wanting to see his younger brother in such a state. But as the Canadian cried out, unconsciously clenching one clammy fist around the sheets, his brother couldn't take it anymore.

He stood, knees popping slightly in protest under weathered jeans with grassstains he'd much rather forget about. Alfred sighed and put one hand firmly on Matthew's shoulder, shaking the boy and saying, "Matt, wake up. Dude, hey, c'mon…" Violet eyes flew open at last, and the Canadian on the bed worked to suppress a scream at his abrupt awakening.

"Y-You okay?" Funny, Alfred sounded like he cared. The blonde didn't say what was on his mind, of course, he merely put on that sickeningly fake smile and said, "Fine." "No, you're not." Matthew nearly choked as the taller teen continued, sitting in the chair again. "You have a nightmare and keep crying and flailing and you expect me to believe you're fine? That's very you, Matt."

"Why did you do it, Al?" "Che. That's the question of the day, isn't it?" As Matthew's heart rate went back to normal, he attempted a glare at the other, only getting as close as a semi-grimace. His eyes hurt, they were raw, tender, and (he suspected) red around the rims. They felt severely bloodshot, at the very least.

As Alfred, uncomfortable with seeing his brother this way, turned to face the window, the Canadian pulled himself into a sitting position, trying desperately to remember what the nightmare, if he had _had_ one, was about. He thought hypothetically because he knew that Al wasn't above lying about that kind of thing, for whatever reason. Maybe the jock wanted him awake so he could have someone to yell and scream at… After all, he had always been the punching bag of the family.

In an instant, the dream came to him, even more vivid than before, and the shock of it caused his breathing to go erratic. Alfred, remaining oblivious, strode over and threw open the curtains, lifting up one of the panes with a clatter. The rush of cool morning air in the stuffy room wasn't enough to curb the feeling of nausea and horror creeping up on the younger male.

Matthew's mind was screaming at him, though his trembling limbs and spinning head couldn't abide the instruction. '_Get out get out get out get out now out out o_-' "Matt?"

His brother's voice caused a searing pain in his chest that he wasn't sure existed. Before he had time to mull over the existence of the ghost pain, the blonde found himself running, stiff limbs and churning stomach in complete disregard. His brother tried to call him back, even chase after him, but the Canadian had screamed loudly, literally scared senseless. His heart skipped a few beats when Alfred ran after him, and Matthew ran without a second thought into the next bedroom. He slammed the door, and frantically grabbed a chair, wedging the firm wood under the handle with a grunt.

Alfred's fruitless attempts to open said entrance had spurred the blonde's fear and, therefore, adrenaline, to new heights altogether. "Matt, what the hell are y-" "GET OUT!" shrieked the smaller teen, collapsing to the ground in sporadic sobs.

--

_He was in a park. The violets were in full bloom, and as Gilbert gently placed one in his hair, the boy couldn't help but giggle. The heady, sweet smell enveloped him, and before he knew it, Gilbert was kissing him. He kissed back, vaguely feeling himself being laid down gently in a bed of flowers. Or was it a real bed?_

He didn't care, either would do. As red eyes roamed his body, he registered that he didn't even feel self-conscious, considering how strange this was. But as the animalistic grasp from that night returned, and he felt the bruises and bitemarks renewing themselves once more, he panicked, shoving the silverette away from him. Gilbert stumbled, a hurt look coming over his face. "I thought you loved me, birdie."

_He looked down, and felt guilt overcome him. "I-I do, but-" "Then say yes." The voice had changed. It was deeper, angrier, and frighteningly familiar. He looked up, only to meet the gaze of his brother. "Al?"_

_  
"Say yes. Do it." "A-Alfred, _stop_ it, I-" He was shoved onto the bed again, lips attacking his own, and the back of his mind told him this was wrong, this was sick, he shouldn't do this. His body told him differently._

_Not sure of which instinct he should abide by, he stayed stock-still on the bed as his clothes were ripped off. The surroundings blurred as he tried to form a word. A plea, a scream, a word of… God forbid, _consent_, anything would do._

_But nothing came._

"_Matt, I knew you wanted this." For the first time, he smelled the alcohol lacing the American's breath. He wanted so badly to say that he didn't, but it didn't matter anymore. His brother was inside of him._

--

Alfred cursed, rattling the incompliant doorknob with hands shaking from anger. "Matthew, open the goddamn d-" "Alfred, honey, your brother needs space." His mother stood behind him, a delicate hand on his shoulder breaking his reverie. He felt his shoulders go slack as he relinquished his hold on the circular knob, fingers trailing off the cold brass.

The woman led her son away as she noted not without alarm that the yellow metal had distinct dents now, in the shape of fingers. Matthew sobbed on, not trailing off at any point. If anything, he grew louder, full blown screams coming out of his mouth before the two made it to the hallway's end.

--

Now THAT'S a bad dream. T_T Sorry to all of you for not making this longer, in addition to all the other stories I have right now, I'm betaing an amazing story by Kiesha (who srsly rocks my socks AND shoes). I'm seriously lolgasming at every PM she sends me. Go! You meet amazing authoress! Now!

Hundred Themes will be up tonight. ;D Yay.


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